Tag Archives: resentments

On Becoming 41

19 not thinking about 41

19 not thinking about 41

So I have been 41 for a whole 2 days. It feels pretty shitty. But I am chalking that up to having the worst head cold in the history of head colds. Or maybe this is just how 41 feels. Sort of runny and sore and watery and stuffed up.

I’ve got a year of being 40 under my belt…and a little over my belt. In the year I was 40, I dated some very lovely men. I dated an asshole or two but that is sort of the story of my life. I lost only one person whom I love, but I know where she lives now so I guess she isn’t truly lost. That’s a bonus as I have lost a loved one every single year for many years now.

I tried, I failed. I bet I succeeded but I can’t think of how or at what off the top of my head. I made some new friends, made some friends closer friends and lost some close friends to the abyss of mis-communication. I have lost more memories, I have gained more common sense. I have lost patience, tolerance and love. I have gained acceptance for myself and for others.

I think I would very much like to travel but I know I don’t want to continue traveling alone. I put my house up for sale and then took it down. I stayed put. I went to The City more often than I have since I was a teenager and I enjoyed every single second of every single trip…even the trip where I had the stomach bug, the one where I had to drive over a bridge and the one where I drove down and back in one day by myself. I went to Boston which is my new fav place to go. I went to the ocean alot and I want to go alot more.

I have not found my birth family. But I don’t think they are looking for me. And most days I can’t think of what I would say to them anyway. I look at my daughters who are the only people in the whole world I am related to and wonder…besides me, who do they look like, who do they sound like, laugh like…I guess they look and sound exactly like themselves.

But being 41 means thinking in new ways of new things that I didn’t have to consider when I was 39. 41 means growing up. It means stop being silly and start becoming witty. It means dating sophisticated men or not dating at all. It means witnessing my mother turning into HER mother and knowing that despite my very best efforts, turning into my mother is beginning to seem like a very comfortable idea.

I hear my biological clock ticking which was a great surprise…I thought it was going to run out soundlessly and gracefully…then I remembered I’m me. Nothing I do is graceful or soundless. I have had wicked tortured thoughts of another baby…just one more…for what reason? None. For who? I’m not sure. It is a strange and maddening longing that I don’t believe, but it is definitely there. And I know I am not alone in these feelings. Instead, I will concentrate on having a rock solid body or maybe getting a Lifestyle Lift.

Watching my kids turn into teenagers which is interesting and very frustrating. At 41, I am not that far away from 19…or 15 …or 11 for that matter. But they think I am. Officially uncool. Un-consulted. Uninvited. At least they have each other. I would like a parade and a day taken in my honor for giving them each other…but they don’t see it as anything special. I see it as the most incredible thing I have ever done, will ever do. Kids ppfftt…

So, day 3 of being 41 will bring a trip to the mall with the kids to see a movie which is my only form of escape, and dinner out because I still don’t cook. Maybe the dog will get a walk, maybe I will feel well. Maybe I will not think of the people I love and what may happen so that I lose them too, sooner rather than later. Maybe I will figure out a way to keep us afloat financially for one more day. Maybe 41 will be the year? Or not. Regardless, I am no longer sad. I have no expectations which frees me up to appreciate every single little joy that crosses my path.

I don’t think I ever thought about where I would be when I was in my 40’s. It was a pretty unclear forecast. I used to make plans…lists and dreams…but those things seem so trivial and small now. Now I just wait to see what the day will bring because I know that tomorrow is not a guarantee and should never be taken for granted and should always be held in reverence….

I lost all of the people I loved, I lost my home, my child, my family and myself but being 40 has given me new family, new children to love as the ones I lost and a home that makes me feel. And feeling at 41 is not as easy as it sounds. Everything around here is getting older…including me. Now I grow my hair to shocking lengths and get on with learning something new and loving someone new and going somewhere new. Or I will revel in the sameness of my every day existence and find the joy in the children becoming independent people riding out to find their own paths.

Or maybe I will invest in the arm gurtels I saw on tv and stage a comeback of my early 20’s!!! Or maybe I will just get another cat. That sounds alot less exhausting…

41 still thinking about being 19...

41 still thinking about being 19…

1993 Never Forgets

This is what 1993 looked like...recent life events are beginning to make more sense...

This is what 1993 looked like…recent life events are beginning to make more sense…

I stopped gathering my mail from the mail box a few months ago. Right after Christmas…because…why bother? It’s not going to be good news. It’s only going to be junk or bills. And that’s not fun. In my effort to keep my PMA I decided that the mail and the phone will be avoided at all costs…except when I am expecting a check or when my best friend calls. That’s it. Everything else is crap.

But, I know sometimes criminals will watch a mail box and if the mail isn’t collected daily they will break in and steal stuff, thinking the people are on vacation. Now, seeings how I am not on vacation, but am sitting quietly inside my house I certainly do NOT want any criminlas breaking in and catching me in my pj’s with my hair not done. That would be embarrassing for them and for me. Therefore, I collect my mail every few days…ya know, to keep the criminals away.

So, friday I grabbed a wad of mail out of the box and brought it in and threw it on the chair and ignored it. Well, I didn’t really ignore it. I gave it the finger every time I walked by it. Until yesterday, when with resentment and curse words and lots and lots of anger, I went thru the mail. It was mostly junk, a few bills and of course the “hey Dumbass Pay Your Student Loans” letters. Oh but there was ONE from the city court saying “OPEN ME RIGHT NOW OR BE VERY VERY SORRY” Damn it. I hate when they say that right on the outside of the envelope. So, I reluctantly opened it.

Inside was a letter saying that in 1993, I was given a ticket for not properly attaching my registration or maybe inspection sticker to the windshield of my car as required by NYS law. Wait…what???? 1993???? I don’t remember 1993. At all. Or 1992 for that matter. Regardless, they will be suspending my driver’s licence as of May 18th if I don’t resolve this issue…wow.

In august of 1993 I was 19 years old. I had a Chevy Citation that I can’t be sure even had a windshield to affix anything to. But 20 years later, after college, homes bought and sold, 3 kids, a divorce and many many new cars (with working windshields) I am going to be put through the hassle of having my licence revoked? Because of 1993????


I call the city court and lo and behold, this particular ticket had been dismissed in 1994. GREAT! But, this is me we are talking about so…..there is a similar ticket from 2006 that is actually the one that will suspend my licence. What???? 2006????? Ya know what happened in 2006? You don’t want to know what happened in 2006. It wasn’t a good year. I remember it well.

Ok, now I have to go to the city court, get the ticket, go to traffic court and see if the judge will dismiss it. Or fine me, whatever but I can’t have my licence suspended. I am the ONLY driver and my kids have STUFF to do. And I drive 60 miles a day round trip for work. I wish I could hire a chauffeur but alas, I am a single mother so no help for me ( come on…just a little sympathy…no? Fine)

I go to the city, find a parking spot with the old fashion parking meter that takes change, put in 2 hours worth of quarters because it would be so ironic to get a parking ticket while in traffic court, and go directly into the wrong courthouse. After going thru the metal detector and being patted down because I kept beeping (maybe there is a metal plate in my head and THAT is why I can’t remember 1993…it’s possible) I march right into the wrong room. They tell me I have to go to the other court house around the block. Great. I go get in my car not thinking that I am literally one block away from the other courthouse, drive all over the city to find another parking spot literally a quarter block from my first parking spot. It is so hard to be me sometimes.

I hop out, put in another 2 hours worth of quarters in the meter and march to the other courthouse. I find the right place. The lady behind the counter listens to my story, pulls up the paperwork and tells me to go to the courtroom. She looked very sympathetic to my plight which I appreciated. Off I go to see the judge. I check in with the officer and take my seat in the pew. No really, they are pews, not seats. Being in a pew, I said a prayer “Please God, don’t let me be arrested” For what? I have no idea but I am not kidding when I say I have no recollection of 1993…

Here comes the judge. We stand, she sits, we sit and I wait for the organ music to start. But just because we are sitting in pews does not mean we get to sing hymns. I learn something new every day! Then this super duper cute guy in a suit and tie calls my name. This experience just got alot better!! But wait! Maybe it’s a trap!!!! What the hell did I do in 1993????? He takes me into another room and sits me down. This kid is maybe all of 22. But golly he sure is cute! He says that the most he can do is knock the ticket down to a parking violation and I will just pay a small fine and be done with it. I blinked and wiped my drool (I am not kidding this guy was HAWT) and said ok! And he sent me back out to wait for the judge to call my name.

In line before me were incarcerated people and people who had lawyers with them. That was interesting. To watch the judge and how she was very stern and realistic with these people who had been arrested for lots of things. The dynamic between the lawyers and the judge was also interesting to watch. And then the guard called my name. And part of me wanted to run up to the bench and cry and beg for mercy. Part of me wanted to be totally indignant of the charges against me and start screaming about My Rights and the injustice of being an American Citizen and having to deal with The System. Instead, I just walked forward and smiled. The judge looked at the paper from the cute guy and said “really?” She looked at the guard standing next to me with disbelief. I started to sweat. Oh my God I am going to jail…1993 caught up to me. The guard sort of smirked. The judge said “I don’t even believe what a waste of time this is” and she crumpled the paper and said ” You are free to go. Go forth and sin no more my sister and procreate as the Lord has commanded” Well, actually she just said “This is dismissed” and the guard said “you’re done you can go” And I turned around and left. With such an incredible guilt because all those other people sitting in the pews were going to hate me.

Screw you 1993!!!!!! I’m free to do what I want any old time!!!!! As long as it is within the bounds of the motor vehicle laws of the great state of New York. Justice is sweet my friends….

Forgiveness is a Bitch in Character Shoes


back when we were innocent...and didn't have character shoes...

I was in a show once and there was a young girl who stood next to me. So far so good right? We were in a big line across the stage and then we would all turn to face right which meant that she was then in front of me. Ok, still with me? Every single rehearsal and every single performance this young girl screwed up. All 23 of us would be kicking forward and she would inevitably would kick backward. And that means she was kicking me right in my shin. Every. Single. Time.

But, I couldn’t let it show on my face that my shin was swelling and I wanted to scream. I had to look like I enjoyed being kicked in the same spot really hard by a tall chick in character shoes. Some people may enjoy that, I am sure there are videos out there for those who do, I don’t. And every night we would come off stage and she would turn to me with a worried look on her face and say in her most sincere voice ” I am SO sorry!!” and I would reply in my most sincere voice “It’s ok.” and I would limp off to get changed for the next number. Every. Single. Time.

Now, I was getting less tolerant and more angry as the weeks went by. I was very resentful that this chick couldn’t get this right. It wasn’t that hard. I mean, 23 other people did it right every night. I tried not to take the kick to the shin personally. This chick was far too young and far too scared to actually be kicking me on purpose. The bitch who was old enough and brave enough to outright kick me was at the other end of the line. But she’s another story. The last weekend of the show I couldn’t take it anymore. Before we even went out for the number I turned to the chick and said “Please, please do not kick me tonight.” and she said “Ok, I won’t I promise I will get it right!” and out we went.

Every. Single. Time. Like clock work I felt the now familiar flare of pain radiate up my leg. As soon as we got off stage she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said ‘I am SO sorry!” Too little too late. I said “I never want to hear you say I’m Sorry again. Just STOP KICKING ME!!!!” And I turned and stormed off to our dressing room. The poor girl cried at that one. She had to redo all of her makeup. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? One, two-o-o three-e-e CrUnCh. How many kicks does it take to piss me off royally? One, two-o-o, three-e-e, twenty-five and ENOUGH!!!

This was the best lesson I ever had about the power of forgiveness. She kept telling me she was sorry but she continued to kick me. So, how sorry was she really? I guess “sorry” didn’t mean much to her. Or maybe it was me saying “it’s ok” that gave her the idea that she didn’t really have to change. I find it wonderous that I put up with it as long as I did. I have a high tolerance for asshole-ish-ness behavior and a higher tolerance for pain. The first 15 kicks to the shin I truly believed she was just young and new. I was young and new once. I had made mistakes. The next 10  kicks, I started to understand that she was just ignorant. Ok, what was I going to do about it? Kick her back? Move my spot? Loosen the heels of her shoes so that on her nightly kick to my shin she would topple over like a rag doll?

I told her exactly what I needed to hear. Don’t apologize anymore, just change your behavior. Because if you’re truly sorry, you will change so that you never do that again. Making amends. I wonder how many shins I kicked? But in making amends, I will never kick another shin. And if I do, I will apologize and not do it again. Actions speak louder than words. Bruises fade, but actual change can last a lifetime. Today, in addition to an apology, I change the offensive behavior whether that means no beans before bedtime or using a napkin rather than the couch, I do it.

The young chick did go on to join The Rockettes. She was subsequently fired for breaking the leg of the girl behind her with an exceptionally hard kick to the shin. She was last seen kicking clients in a fetish club downtown and she never has to say she’s sorry. It’s all for the best.