Last week, my husband lost his job.

I don’t know if he was fired or laid off, but they are giving him four more weeks then requesting his resignation.

Needless to say this sucks.

Sure, my husband has a few leads, but it takes awhile to find something.  There are preliminary interviews, face to face interviews, and then there is the uncertainty about where we will end up living when he does find a job.  No joke, we’ve lived in four different states and one other country in the last 10 years.  We’re  leaves in the wind, liable to end up literally anywhere:  Boston, Texas, China, Israel…we could wind up anywhere I guess.

Even worse?  I might be pregnant.

This is in no way welcome news.  I didn’t want to try again, but my husband convinced me to play Russian Roulet with my body yet again.  Russian roulette because pregnancy almost certainly for me means a miscarriage in about four to eight weeks.  That translates to another fucking D&C operation but with no insurance this time.

I’m not simply being pessimistic because I miscarried once.  I WISH that was the case.  Nope, I’ve had the distinct privilege of weathering  four miscarriages and undergoing three D&C operations already.   There is a HUGE chance I’ll lose the fifth baby.

In fact, because I have had such issues with pregnancy,  I’ve been going to a fertility specialist who recommends  I go on some hefty (and expensive!) medications after a positive pregnancy test.   Something called Lovenox to keep my blood from clotting since none of the other medications have worked in the past.

Of course the doctor isn’t sure the medication will work either.  They can’t find anything wrong with either me or my husband so it’s just a shot in the dark.  Something to do so I’ll at least say I tried something different this time.  The end result could be going thousands in debt for the medication and still have to go through another miscarriage.   A double blow.  One to my emotions and another to my wallet.

I guess I’ll know my fate for sure tomorrow when my period is due.

Right now my boobs hurt, I have cramps, and I’m praying to God it’s PMS.  I can’t bear to take a pregnancy test.  I am simply not ready to face the music.

When I stepped on the scale this morning, I closed my eyes, said a little prayer, and looked.

“WHEW!” was my first thought.  “Not as fat as last night.”

This morning I was 146.0.  Last night I was 146.5, and then a few hours before that I was 146.8.  I’m still not under 145 but I’m going to get back there, damn it.

Yes, I know weighing yourself every few hours is not a good idea.  I also know 146 is not a lot of poundage for a 5’8 woman, (in fact it’s almost ideal) but every time I look in the mirror all I see is someone overweight on a slippery slope to morbid obesity.  I see fat pooled around my abdomen and feel my waist band digging into my spare tire.  I see jiggling in my upper arms and see cottage cheese like cellulite under the skin.  I might as well be 300 pounds instead of somewhere in the 140’s.

When I weigh 144 or 145–just a pound or two lighter–a magic switch flips inside of me and I feel thin again.  Suddenly I can see muscle definition. My skin looks clearer, my hair shinier and I can go out in the world, confident my body looks great.

The sane part of me knows I’m being ridiculous.  When see pictures of myself, I’m almost always pleasantly surprised.  In reality, I look thin and athletic–a far cry from the land whale I imagine.  My skin glows from a good diet and lots of exercise and my hair is shiny and healthy.  I’m in no way fat, and look about the same as I did in high school and college 15 years ago.

But then my demon brain says “You won’t look good if you weigh an ounce more.  Get fatter and your looks will go away.”  Then I’ll think of my friends who have gained weight (because of pregnancy or just getting older) and worry incessantly if weight gain will happen to me and go on a fruit and veggie fast.

Sometimes I feel like giving up entirely and becoming so fat I can’t get out of bed.  It would be kind of nice to be able to eat three pizzas for lunch and a gallon of ice cream in one sitting.   A person who treats an entire sheet cake like an after dinner mint.

When I talked to my husband, only half kidding about becoming a white Jabba the Hut, he laughed.  “That’s not you.”  he said, and he’s right.  Obsession  is in my DNA I suppose.  I’ll always be on the quest for the perfect body–even though I know I’ll never feel pretty enough, athletic enough, or toned enough.  Shoot, Victoria’s secret could offer me a modeling contract and I wouldn’t be satisfied my body looked good enough (though trust me that won’t happen at the ripe old age of 38!).

I wish I could break free from obsession and not care about weight but I can’t.  I’m trapped, and feel powerless to stop my obsessive weight fixation. I KNOW it’s not healthy and I’m being ridiculous, but I somehow am powerless to stop myself.

Strap In For A Rant: Business Woes

I know, I usually blog about my general outrage (like how much I hate Donald Trump and Holly Madison), but my real life is getting in the way of more abstract upsets, and I’m feeling the need to unburden myself.  So, here it goes.

I’m a art teacher and sort of work for myself.  I teach classes at a school (with a boss and everything) and then supplement that with private students.  I’m in charge of collecting money and scheduling, but I still follow school policies for protection, and pay a fee for the use of the facilities and materials.  The main rules in a list of about 20 are:

1. Lessons are billed monthly
2. The teacher needs four weeks notice before the student can drop.
3. As long as teachers are give 24 hours notice for a non habitual absence, a teacher can either credit the lesson or do a make-up.

I always send this list of rules out to parents as soon as they finish a trial lesson and commit to taking art class.  I  also think it’s worth mentioning I’ve never had any problems with this over a three year period.

Until today.

There was a kid whose parents paid for four months lessons up front.

This is actually not cool because you never really  know what the future will hold.   The student could get sick, go on a few month’s vacation, decide they hate art, or have to relocate to another state.  You just never know.  If something like that happens, as per our contract, I can bill for four lessons but then end up having to pay back a shit ton of monet.  Money I probably already spent and don’t have sitting in my bank account, (because–news flash–I’m an art teacher not a high powered business person).

Anyway, when presented with a 400 plus dollar check, I had my concerns.  I stated those,  but was reassured this particular student (a 7 year old) would be at her lesson for the next 4 months and that I shouldn’t worry.

Of course, a month in, reading camp became more of a priority, and I was asked by the parents if this student could suspend lessons for the summer and resume in the fall.

I said “sure, but you have to pay for your time spot through the next two months or I can’t guarantee I’ll have space for you in the fall.”  I then talked about how great their kid was, and how talented etc. etc. to smooth things over.

The Dad was not thrilled.  “No, we want to use the lessons we paid for for lessons, nor to hold the spot!”  he stated in an e-mail.

I was angry, but pointed to our policies nicely.   I told him we bill by the month and I couldn’t guarantee a spot unless they wanted to pay for it.   I then went on to state that time was money, and another option was to consider giving me four weeks notice, and I would “gladly” (well, grudgingly but fairly anyway)  reimburse them their 200 plus dollars for August and September.

You would think I was the most unreasonable person ever.  I got a phone call telling me I was “kicking them out of my studio” and they didn’t understand why I couldn’t simply let the money roll over until the fall.

Kicking them out?  They were the ones stopping lessons.  The policy states that lessons are billed monthly, and if you do discontinue the teacher need four weeks notice.  I don’t want to have to hang on to lesson times just for them.  It’s not fair to me.   Additionally, in the event they come back and I didn’t have an available time, I would have to reimburse their money without any notice at all.  Not being able to accommodate them would be on me.

In the end, I compromised.  They were not thrilled, but I told them they could give me two weeks and not four.  I guess it’s not worth having my name dragged in the mud over.  I’m pissed because they didn’t think ahead, and even more pissed I owe them 250 dollars I don’t have.

Why do some people seem to think they are above rules and regulations?  That I have to pay rent too and am not just some person who teaches their kid how to make a pinch pot.  Do people quit paying your rent just because they go on vacation?  No way!  People pay every month, regardless of how much they are physically there.  Month to month.  You don’t get to opt out because you went to Tahiti.

I’m actually glad it’s over.  I don’t want a student who will be flaky with me.  Someone who will come one week and be gone the next.    It’s not fair to me to have to scramble and find a time for them anytime they feel like it, and then let them float on endlessly until their money runs out.

It’s so unfortunate.  99 percent of people are good and follow the rules, but that one percent of people who think they are above it all piss me off.

 

Top Five Reasons Trump Would Be A Terrible President

Donald J. Trump would be the absolute worst person to hold the highest office in the United States.  In fact I would vote for my dog over Trump for the following reasons:

He Doesn’t Fight Fair

Whenever Donald Trump doesn’t like someone, it gets personal.  Take his infamous fight with Rosie O’Donnell.  Instead of taking the high road and sticking to facts (he gave Ms. Universe a second chance and Rosie didn’t agree with the decision)  he resorted to insults.  He called Rosie, fat, unpleasant, and said in a very public way he was glad her talk show failed.  Do we really want a leader who will resort to name calling?  As a US President, Trump would be dealing with people with far more power than Rosie O’Donald and might retaliate in a far more disastrous way.

The Real “Business Genius” was his Father

Trump is not a self made man.  He was born into the wealth that his father Fred Trump built;  a man who guided his sons actions and protected him from one too many failures before his death in 1999.  To hear Donald tell it, he built his real estate empire on his own, but that’s far from true.   His father bailed his son out a number of times.  In fact, when Trumps casino was losing money, his father made sure his son didn’t go under by going into the casino and purchasing millions of dollars in chips before walking out.   Then of course there were the many times Trump DID declare bankruptcy.  Without his father, Trump would be nothing.

Trump is an Entertainer, not a politician

Trump is a reality TV show host.  He’s not a politician, and in fact has never held a political office in his life.  He is entertaining and knows how to get good ratings, but that’s about it.  In fact, the majority of his wealth comes from being a TV personality, not from real estate.  Doesn’t America deserve someone with some kind of experience in public office?  Someone with at least a law degree or fundamental understanding of US history?

Trump Is Shallow

You have only to look at Melania Trump to know Donald only cares about what something looks like rather than what it is.  If he truly cared about his wife, wouldn’t he have at least learned a little about her background and native language?  Wouldn’t he have spent a little longer than three hours in Slovenia trying to find out about her and what she represents?  Donald Trump only cares about how much something costs and making others envious of whatever it is he possesses.  He is all about flash and no substance.  Is this the type of person we want in the white house?

He Doesn’t Like to Loose

What’s best for the nation should be the focus of a presidential election, not who the winner is.  With all this focus on losers and winners and throwing a temper tantrums, he’s making everything about himself instead of the nation.  How will he react when the nation views him unfavorably on an issue?  Will he simply call the people of America “fucking idiots?”  as he’s so prone to do with the staff he doesn’t like?

All in all, Trump would be the worst president in US history if allowed to take office.  His whining pettiness might fly in other professions, but this type of behavior should not be tolerated in a US presidential candidate.

 

Being Kendra: A Book Review

It’s been a long time since the show “Girls Next Door” was on the air, and now that the story of the playboy mansion has been told, I wasn’t in a huge hurry to read “Being Kendra.”  In fact, had I seen it at a bookstore, I probably would have passed it by for something else.   Kendra has already talked about life in the playboy mansion, and I wasn’t sure any subsequent books would be that interesting.  Still, I loved the “Girls Next Door,” and when I saw Kendra’s book at my local library, I decided to check it out.

I have to say, I liked the book.  Kendra is grounded an understands fully that she owes her success to Hugh Hefner.  She never forgets where she got her start, and sees her time at the playboy mansion as the beginning of her success (unlike delusional Holly Madison who somehow thinks she could have done better without “Girls Next Door”).

Another great thing about Kendra is that she’s genuine.  She knows who she is: a cute blonde entertainer.  She doesn’t use her celebrity  to pretend she’s something she’s not, and doesn’t demand people should take her seriously because of her fame (like fellow former playboy bunny Jenny McCarthy).  For example, she talks about how she and Hank raise their son but is quick to add that new parents have to find their own way.   On the controversial vaccine issue she is quick to say “I’m not a doctor and not qualified to make those decisions.”

It’s a little hard to understand where she does stand on some issues though.  One moment she talks about the elaborate baby proofing she did to her home in LA, then her next paragraph talks about how parents today are over protective.  She also talked about about how much junk food she ate during pregnancy but then turns around and say she wishes everyone in the world ate as healthy as she does.

All in all, I liked the book.  I’m not sure I’m a better person for having read it, but it was fun to spend a little time in Kendra’s world.  She is genuine, grounded, and under no delusions of grandeur like a lot of celebrities these days.

Trophy Wife In The White House

Donald Trump talks to the media ad nauseum about how he “respects women,” but the proof is right in front of us.

Malania Trump.

He certainly didn’t marry the woman for her interest in the national debt.  He simply liked what he saw, flashed his wallet and took her home.  Just as if she was a mustang or corvette.

It doesn’t care about her as a person.  He’s put forth zero effort to speak  Slovenian (not even a few phrases), and reportedly only spent a few hours in her home country.   They aren’t even near the same age.  He only wants someone who will be subservient and look pretty.    An ex supermodel to impress his friends and say “hey, look at my new toy.”

To hear Melania speak, it’s like Donald didn’t even discuss running for president with her. It’s more like he decided to do it and she was along for the ride, like it or not.   Reading between the lines she gives off the vibe she wishes this presidential thing would just blow over.   I honestly doubt she had any say in what he’s doing, (because he’s the one with the money) and she merely does and says people tell her too.

It’s sad how we as a nation are ok with a man who chooses a wife based on nothing but looks.  A wife who dropped out of college, and has no interest other than maybe fashion.  The campaign people try to gloss over her obvious disinterest in the white house by saying Melania is a mother and wants to focus on that, but come on.  Her only child is 10 years old, and she has a cook, maid, and a babysitter at her disposal.

All in all, how anyone can say Donald Trump sees women beyond tits and ass is delusional.  He’s a misogynous pig, who does not need to represent our country.

Melania Trump: Not Exactly A Role Model

I’m sincerely bothered by the fact that Donald Trump is married to a model 24 years his junior.

That’S just the beginning.  Melania Trump doesn’t have an interest in politics, barely speaks English, and has been noticeably absent from the campaign trail.  Donald Trump didn’t marry her because she is his equal.  He married her because she is arm candy and made him feel superior.

What kind of example is this for young girls?  As if reality shows  like “Girls Next Door” and “Sister Wives” featuring women as commodities didn’t do enough to set women back, we’re now prepared to put a trophy wife in the white house.  Girls, listen up!  Being skinny and beautiful is the most important thing in life.  If you are, a rich man will swoop in and take care of you.

Have we actually regressed since the 60’s?  Sure, Jackie Kennedy was attractive and glamorous, and not the strongest role model for women, but she’s infinitely better than Melania Trump.  At least Jackie was a legitimate reporter for a newspaper before marriage and her ties with Jack at least appeared to be based on something more substantial.  She wasn’t some bimbo model.

Instead of a modern first lady becoming more independent (or even moving towards acing a first man) are we seriously considering a move backwards on this?

Michelle Obama is a woman we can respect.  She has class, and is a hard working woman with a career in her own right.  Additionally, we can see how she believes in her husband.  She is behind him 110 percent, and because she is a strong powerful woman, we trust her judgement.  Hilary Clinton was also a great role model for women back in the Clinton administration, and if she were to become president would continue putting out that “you can do anything if you want it bad enough” message to young women.

Melania Trump?  If she is a reflection of the times, we are in a sad state.  She says we value a woman’s looks over who she is.    That it’s ok for men to use women as objects and the don’t have to do anything but look pretty and sit on the sidelines.

Frankly I’m sickened by the whole thing, and have no plans to vote Trump.

The Love You Don’t Want

Back in college, I met a guy named Dave.  I liked him.  We talked on the phone, went out to dinner and did homework together; only there were no sparks.

I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.   After all, he never gave me any sign he was interested.  In fact, he always wore sweats and a holy t-shirt when we hung out and never made any effort to clean his dorm room.  The place was a mess with candy wrappers, cloths and papers piled everywhere.  If he had any romantic intentions, I thought surely he would have at least thrown out the trash before I came over.

He definitely had his good points though.  He was super smart (in fact he was a pre-med student), and would help me study for exams even though my major was almost the opposite of his.  He was also really fun to hang out with.   I would always be in stitches of laughter when we would walk around campus or get coffee at “The Daily Grind.”

Looking back, I suppose I was super naive to think he didn’t have feelings for me, but I was a 19 year old girl.  My experience with the opposite sex was limited to a few heavily monitored dates in high school.  I simply didn’t grasp the concept that heterosexual men and women generally can’t be friends.

I guess I would say Dave was my closest friend during my second year of college and most of my third.  During that time he did try to kiss me twice after a night of drinking; but when I rejected him he laughed it off the next day saying he didn’t mean it.

The middle of my Junior year was when things changed.  I met someone.  He was a tall European guy named Nikki who never gave off any pretense of friendship.  He looked at me with lust like a tiger stalking its prey and I instantly had a crush.

When I told Dave about my new love interest, he laughed it off.  He made jokes about how stupid the guy’s accent was, and how his athletic build basically branded him a Neanderthal.  I laughed, but when Nikki asked me out,  nothing Dave could do or say could stop it.  It was a force of nature and I was thrust in Nikki’s direction almost beyond my will.

Then one day after taking me to a movie, the handsome European  brought me back to my dorm, stood in the doorway and said confidently while looking in my eyes “What do you think?”

“About what?”  I asked, wondering what he was getting at.

“About this.”  he said and pulled me to him.  He then kissed me in a way that had me feeling it in my toes.

Not long after, Nikki asked me to be his official girlfriend, and I was swept away.  We spent entire weekends in bed, went out to dinner, movies, and became basically inseparable.  Dave was swept to the side, and I hardly gave him a thought as I was completely in love with Nikki.

That’s when things with Dave got complicated.  He told me he was in love with me and had all these feelings I honestly didn’t know were there.

I wasn’t sure how to react.  More than anything I felt sorry for him.  I made excuses saying “you’ll be going to med school next year in another state.” and  “I don’t like long distance relationships.”

He told me he would take a year off.  That he would stay with me and go to med school later.  That he couldn’t stand to lose me after we had gotten so close.  He cried real tears, and weeks after with the flood of e-mails I became truly fearful he would attempt suicide.   I wasn’t sleeping, and eventually had to cut all ties with him as he was effecting my health and well being.  In fact, it was a relief to come back for senior year knowing he was safely on the other side of the country.

It’s been 15 years since then.

I married Nikki.

We had a child.

Then Dave found me on social media.

At first glance he seemed to be doing well.  He graduated from med school and now held a PHD in Internal Medicine.  He had a great job in a hospital and though he was still single, he looked to have a great house in Texas and took vacations with his parents and sibilings.  I was happy for him.

Then things got weird.

I got all kinds of messages saying things like “for 10 years my computer password is your phone number from college.”  and “It’s the anniversary of the first time we went to ‘The Daily Grind.'”  Things that might have been romantic if we had, you know, actually had a romance; but honestly I found a little creepy.

Then he became mean on social media.  Every time I would post something, he was the first to answer, and usually with a sarcastic comment.  When we went skiing, he responded with a snarky comment and picture of the tropics as if to say “I have it better where I am.”  On Valentine’s day we posted a picture where we splurged at an upscale restaurant.  His comment? “Nice place…for redneck Virginia I suppose.”

I suppose I understand.  I’ve had my own history of obsession with men who, for whatever reason, didn’t return my affections. I have certainly felt like trash talking their facebook posts, but even so, I restrain myself.  Though I may be jealous of their spouse, I certainly would never respond to a vacation photo with more than a “Looks like fun.”

That’s why, though it’s flattering someone at one time felt so strongly about me, I had to block Dave from my social media posts.  Part of me has a soft spot for him as not many people come along and fall head over heels in love, but his behavior is hurtful to my family.

All in all, it’s taken 15 years, but I finally have learned the lesson:  men and women can’t be friends, and I made the right decision in choosing Nikki for my husband.

The Pain Of An Emotional Affair

Tommy had long hair, played guitar, and was a good 15 years older than me.  I liked him a lot from the get go.

Of course I didn’t want to sleep with him at first.  In the beginning we were just as colleagues.  He would give me tips and tricks for handling clients, and when I realized his advice was pretty good I started seeking out his guidance.

Then, gradually, things got personal.

When I told him about my emotional issues, Tommy had a lot of great insight.  After all, he was older.  He had been through divorce and remarriage and knew a thing or two about relationships.   More than that, he was gentle and understanding towards me, and validated my feelings when I desperately needed it.

At home my marriage was devoid of emotion.  If we weren’t discussing schedules,  my husband was picking at me almost like he was trying to find things wrong.  I would receive verbal smacks on the hand for forgetting to get the mail, but never get credit for tasks like making dinner and cleaning the house.   It was like he was blind to all the things I did day after day for our family, and instead picked at what wasn’t perfect.

Tommy became my cheerleader.   He complimented things about me my husband never noticed.  My small victories at work were celebrated, and then he started praising me for me.   He told me my slight southern accent was “charming” and he noticed when I wore something new.

After awhile, I started falling for him hard and he responded in kind by becoming more touchy.  His hand would graze mine when handing me a pencil and he would touch me on the arm during conversation.

Things got worse.  Not only did he start hugging me every chance he got, he began to tell white lies and exaggerating his own accomplishments which, oddly enough, endeared me to him even more.

Of course I started imagining his lips on mine which lead to daydreams about having him screw me in the supply closet and following me out to my car to have his way with me.

I knew nothing could truly happen.  In fact, life with him would be a disaster.  I liked the guy, but there was too much of a disparity between our ages and our backgrounds.  He was rock and roll, I’m a Bach Cello suite.  Even if both our spouses were swallowed by the earth and we were free to be together, the relationship would be short lived I know.

Fortunately, before I could have an affair, my husband took a job out of state and we moved 500 miles away.

At this point,  it’s been a year since I last laid eyes on Tommy.  I don’t think of him every day, but occasionally I dream of him and everything I felt while I was enamored with him comes flooding back in a wave of sexual excitement.

I honestly wonder; if I had a physical affair with him instead of an emotional one, would it have made a difference?  Would I have been able to get him out of my system?  If I knew what I was missing and didn’t have to use my imagination, would it have made my suffering go away?

Reaction To The Orlando Shootings

Emily.

She’s an annoying, loud mouthed, preacher type who always has to be right.  She does have her good points.  She can be funny and her perspective on life is interesting, but the belief that her opinion is the only one that matters has knocked her down in life.  It’s even gotten her fired on more than one occasion because she is so outspoken.

Oh, and did I mention that she’s gay?

Actually, that should have been the first thing I said about her.  That’s because she screams it from the rooftops with rainbow pins making it her personal mission to be walking poster for LGBT rights.  When meeting a new hire–well, before she was let go–she once even said  “Hi, I’m Emily.  I’m gay.”

Of course she blames the reaction she gets from people on her homosexuality.  “They don’t listen to me because I’m gay.”  she’ll tell everyone.  Once I gently pointed out that Chuck, the accountant, was also gay and nobody had problem with it but she got defensive.  “Chuck is a man, and people always take men more seriously than women.”  she rationalized, unwilling to accept that maybe nobody listens to her because she is obnoxious.

Honestly, if homosexuality was 100 percent acceptable and women were considered equal, Emily would still find something else to be up in arms about.  She would talk about how nobody takes her seriously because she’s an artist of sorts, or something similar to that. She uses being gay as a shield.  I guess it’s easier to say “They don’t like me because I’m gay,” rather than “They don’t like me for me.”

Because she is on a crusade for gay people everywhere, the Orlando shootings were very hard for Emily.  Like a lot of people,  she took the attack personally.  I don’t blame her.  It was horrible thing that happened, and it genuinely cut her to the core.

But, Emily being Emily she had to come up with some way to make it about her.  How the public didn’t do enough to suit her ideals.

Just yesterday she fired off an angry social media post about how mad she was that Facebook and Twitter didn’t shut down for a day of silence.  She said that it was ridiculous how the world could keep going on, and how people could keep posting pictures of their children and pets when such a disaster had happened.   How before social media, there was respect and it was utterly horrendous how  we as a nation couldn’t shut up for a second to think of the victims.  She called everyone who did post on that day classless animals who only thought of themselves.

She got a variety of reactions (from friends not the general public) ranging from “you go girl,” to outright disagreement.

I declined to weigh in because I knew this was just another case of Emily being Emily, but it really irked me.   For one thing, if you need a moment of silence, SHUT OFF THE COMPUTER.  For another you can’t demand other people mourn in the way that you see fit.  For some people it takes time to sink in.  For others, a little diversion is needed from the tragedy, and even still, some people might be late to the party and not know what’s going on.

I guess it just pisses me off that Emily could think her reaction is the only right one.   Horrible things happen every day, the world doesn’t stop turning.   I hope one day she will understand being gay or being an artist, or being a woman doesn’t entitle you to act obnoxiously and have a fit.  Everyone is different, everyone has a perspective, and everyone has challenges.  Your reaction to something is not necessarily the only one.