Starbucks, the sads, and the science

I am not an experienced coffee drinker as evidenced by the fact that I habitually get my order mixed up at Starbucks and hold up the line while I try to make sense of the situation.

“Um….I’ll take a caramel coffee iced venti. Make that a coffee iced venti caramel. Nope. Iced coffee caramel venti. Not that either. One more time. Grande caramel iced coffee – vento, extra caramel, please.”

And on and on it goes until the collective sigh behind me and the foot tapping start to take on a more ominous tone. When the eye shanking threatens to give way to some next level realness, I know it’s time to take a seat.

“Iced tea, black, unsweetened. Big. Thanks.”

Man, I am always up for a Bloodsport style rumble in the concrete jungle, but not when it’s against people who haven’t had their morning coffee fix. People are crazy for them beans. I get it (see previous post regarding my unholy relationship with devil dog cake).

Life was simpler (not really) when I was much more cavalier about my spending habits and the words “iced caramel macchiato” and “spinach feta wrap” rolled off my tongue like the lyrics to the National Anthem.  

If the whole iced coffee order would just work out at least once, it would indicate that I'm a reformed spender, especially since my new breakfast of choice is air and it's pretty much free. Not that I needed to pick up any more bad habits with the whole coffee attempt anyway, but sometimes I just need  a little boost (yeah, yeah I know – “Try exercise!”, you say. “Your face”, says me). 

I’ve been so out of it lately that twice in the last few weeks I’ve gotten lost on the way to places I frequent on a ridiculous basis. Places that I would marry if I could.

So my 2 mile road trip…after pointing my vehicle in the direction of the North Star, I eventually found the mothership and walked in with a mental checklist – apples, chewy bars, pads, water, apples, chewy bars, pads, water, apples, chewy bars, pads, water – and left with apples, chewy bars, pads, water, Pringles, flip flops, computer paper, candle warmer wax thingies, hummus, and more wedding magazines. Sonofabitch! Damn you, memory - I forgot to remember that I was a reformed spender. Shady Pines, here I come.  

                       Thank you for being a friend.

No. The thing is…I’ve been sad. And this sadness...in that particular space at the back of my heart where it always resides - sometimes it’s quiet and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I can control it. Sometimes I cannot. I have my coping mechanisms, my defenses, my ways of working through it, my best laid plans… I was never so foolish as to believe that a wedding would take that sadness away, but I did almost trick myself into thinking I would be too distracted with planning to focus on anything else.  

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting the past few days.

• “When I had my old job I could buy all of the things in the whole world” (and I must have because…damn, my savings tho)

• “When I had my old job I could spend $25 on lunch without my ass breaking out into a cold, cold sweat” (Really? Really I spent this much on lunch for myself?!?)

•  “When I had my old job I never researched how much money I could make donating my body for various scientific trials” (Ok, maybe this one isn’t completely true. I once read an article about someone having their big toe cut off and reattached for $10,000. $10,000! I have two big toes. Let’s do this! )

• “When I had my old job I could travel all over the world on a moment’s notice” (and boy, did we ever. Nate and I once did London in 72 hours)

and then there's this...

• “When I had my old job I still had her” (ah, this is the one that kills me).

And suddenly all of that stuff about having money and taking time off whenever I wanted and trekking all across the globe becomes trivial.

Because I still had her and the idea of her and her future and the possibilities…and everything. Just everything.

It’s strange always having one foot stuck in the before and one in the after – two crooked halves of a life gone completely off the rails in just a moment’s notice…a life that I’m still doing my best to live in her honor. Before, after. Before, after. One foot in front of the other.

It’s taken some time, but I’ve learned it’s ok to have these bad days, to not feel guilty if I have a fleeting bad thought about someone else’s success or good fortune, to stomp my feet and say “IT’S. NOT. FAIR!” (because it isn’t, really. It just isn’t). I’m only human. And I don’t stay long in that place anyway because it’s dark and it’s ugly, and it’s mean, and that’s not who I am  or who I want to be.

But I allow myself to feel what I’m feeling in that very moment and I don’t judge myself too harshly for it anymore.

Because the occasional coffee? It could be a lot worse... I could be addicted to selling my body for a quick buck (FOR SCIENCE, people, for science only). 

Hmm…ten fingers and ten toes, you say? That's a lot of thousands. 

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

Excuse me, Officer? I've just made a citizen's arrest.

I heard something a few days ago that really made me mad. The person who said it is of little consequence in my life today, and my energy would probably be better spent rolling around in a steaming pile of doodoo sitting in the middle of the sidewalk on a hot and humid summer day than to pay her any mind. I no longer have to deal with this person on a daily basis, but this individual is in serious need of a bitch-ain’t-right citizen’s arrest. Sometimes stuff is just too hard to ignore.

Then I came across this quote from Zig Ziglar:

“Don’t be distracted by criticism. Remember, the only taste of success some people have is when they take a bite out of you.”

Well, Zig, this is my zag on it:

“Some people are just jerks and you don’t have to take it - you can talk about them in your blog. The internet is forever.”

Or, I can take the road less vengeful and focus on other things, like the good that’s come from leaving a truly toxic environment.

OR, I can continue to imagine a world in which I am the queen of a pack of roided out simians who fling feces at people on my command.

This guy isn't flinging feces, but still knows what's up

 

Mean people – sigh. I remember talking to this boy in my neighborhood one day when I was about 9. We talked about surviving the 4^th grade, how our teachers were scary, how word problems were the language of the devil with their impossible twists and turns involving fruit and train speeds, and what we thought the 5^th grade would be like. I thought we were cool – like Bridge to Terabithia level cool - except I wouldn’t die in the end like the main girl character.   Anyway, as the sun started to set rose-gold on that almost summer vacation day, his mom called him in for dinner and he hopped on his bike with a parting line I will never forget: “Bye, Fatgirl.”

Wut.

It was said so nonchalantly, as if that was the name I had given him when he first rolled up on his BMX bike to ask who I was and what school I went to.  After picking my jaw up off the sidewalk, I mustered up the biggest FACIAL ever: “Bye…you…you…you egghead!”  Straight. Outta. Compton.

 

Gangsta gangsta

It took a few years and a burned down house later before I felt completely comfortable going outside again. Sometimes I replay that whole exchange in my head and wonder if I heard him correctly. Batgirl? Badger? Falkor???  The “Neverending Story” was one of my favorite movies back then.

 

Hmm, maybe he really liked me and just didn’t know how to express himself. Maybe his parents were mean and he just didn’t have any home training. Maybe I really did tell him my name was Fatgirl. STOP. I won’t make excuses for him because that’s what we always seem to do for other people’s bad behavior.

Fast forward to now. Nate tells me to just forget this person who recently made me so mad that I contemplated the effectiveness and legal ramifications of placing an anonymous ad on Craigslist saying there was a cat party at X’s house and everyone in the tri-state area was invited.

 

 

People always say, "Well, that's just how she is because she’s lonely" (hmm, I wonder why). But just because she’s lonely (again I wonder why) and people feel sorry for her, can I just take a minute to ask the universe why she should get a pass? Don’t we all have our own hurt that we carry in our hearts? I know I do. Do I lash out at others because of it? Unless your name is Nate, the answer is no.

I know I have anger issues, but every day I fight hard to come up with creative ways to help me navigate through those icky waters. I bake, read motivational books, memorize inspirational quotes, sing “Let it Go” like all the time (but in a lower key because it’s too high), and write. I don’t always know what I’m trying to say, and at times I manage to offend even myself, but music and words and words and music keep me from turning into a “Well, that’s just how she is” person. I don’t ever want to be labeled that way.

 

I lost my daughter, but that does not define me. I am the ever changing sum of every experience that continues to make up the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years of my life. I am Ligaya’s mom, and I am also so many other things.

Anyway, the main point I’m trying to make here is to basically stop being an asshole if you’re an asshole.  Don’t be a bully in the work place. Don’t be a bully, period. Obviously, as seen in recent weeks, there are people in the world who let their anger fester and grow. Whether it’s a perceived or actual slight, in an unstable mind, that can be a recipe for disaster and unfathomable tragedy. It doesn’t cost anything to be nice, so do it. If you don’t have something nice to say, then shut the fuck up. Easy peasy.