Whelp, it’s been a while

11 Jul
The_Fam

Yeah scoundrels, that’s me now! And the fam!

Scoundrels! Goddamn, I missed you all. Here I am now, a mother to a 3-year-old, a wife, a homeowner, and a career woman (and back to being a derby girl!). Holla! Beyonce would be proud.

The husband and I just (as in last week) celebrated our first anniversary.

I finally rid myself of those damn cats and now have a puffy, fluffy dog. His name is Roger Sterling.

The boy and Roger are besties.

That’s a complete lie. The boy likes to pretend he’s a bull and ram Roger. While Roger likes to hide Duncan’s toys. And he’s particularly fond of pissing on the boy’s outside toys. It’s like having two kids. That are dicks. I’m pretty sure Duncan sees Roger as a threat. Sibling rivalry where one of the siblings is a dog.

The boy! Oh man, that kid is a constant source of laughter and joy for me. And our potty training adventures make me want to jump off a bridge. Remember, you can’t have it all.

Over the next several weeks, I’ll share proper updates about all the major milestones I fucking owned in these last years. And some that I completely failed at.  For now, I’d just like to give the biggest Internet hugs and smudge my lipstick all over your faces.  And for real, let’s get to talkin’ again!

 

I wanna take a chance.

6 Jun

I wanna take a chance; not just any chance. I’m talking about a chance at life–a chance to be what/who-the-fuck-ever I CAN be.

As hard as it is for me to say this, I wanna take a chance to cry and feel…truly feel. You know, like you do. I’d like to walk into someone’s arms openly and not think, “I can’t trust you. I don’t know who you are; yet, I know you’ll hurt me.” When you put your arms around me, I want to know that we’re building crystal castles that are wavering, but we’re steadying the foundation together.

I wanna take the chance to be poetic. I’ve dreamed of writing prose that will sustain life force and carry a generation–better yet, you and I–into the prowess of tomorrow, conquering everyday one raindrop at a time. Is that too much to ask?

I wanna take a chance and grab today by the balls. (Without pain, there’s no virtue…no…gain.) I’m talking letting go of apprehension, indiscretion, judgement. This is taking a sigh of relief and knowing understanding accepting that everything will be what it will be. I’m imperfect, so what?

I wanna rise above my selfish. Yeah, that if-you-ain’t-got-yours-too-bad (sad but true), should be a thing of MY past…OUR past. I. Want. To. Embrace the fact that I’m a solitary orb arbitrarily on a course with the unknown, and quite frankly, I can’t control it. Redundant, but the way it is.  Damn right, I want a releeeassseeee!

Bottom line: I wanna take a chance and put this into the ionosphere in hope that you feel what I feel. Take a chance to know that I’m not alone.

Should I leave or should I go?

4 May

“Eye of The Tiger” is playing in the background. I’m leading the team as we’re running down the tunnel. We step out and just before I close my eyes, a cool breeze brushes across my cheek. Then…rip–right through the paper hung under the field goal post. The topper: said papter is decorated in glitter, rainbows, and the words (finger-painted in some foreign(?) secretion) Bitches, wee’rrrre baaaaccckkkkk!!!! 

Don’t judge my pre-game fantasy. This is our first post in a coupla months. I’m entitled. Now on to why you’re here. The thirty talk.

———————————————————————-

My choice is go w/ hands flailing, eyes closed, and mouth open. Just be careful of the bugs. #yuck

So, last night I got a pleasant, surprise call from a bestie. We’ll call her Kimchi. (Sidenote: If you knew how spot on racist this was, you’d be in a fit of laughter with me right now.) You see, Kimchi has called Denver her home for her entire 32 years of life and simply needs a change. I don’t know about you, but I get it. Hell, I don’t know how she lasted this long. I left Georgia on the first underground railroad car I could stow away on. She needs similar escape and to experience more in life. To grab the unknown by the balls and face fuck it.

Two days into her decision to choose the 3rd largest city in the good ol’ US of A to move to she started to panic. What if this is a bad decision? How can she leave a career that she’s worked so hard on with a stable company? What about not having the same support system in her new city? Will she make enough money to maintain the new-city-equivalent lifestyle  as she has in Denver? WHAT. IF. SHE .FAILS? <<<<I want to stay here for a moment. Let’s think about the role this question plays on the stage of life-changing decisions. Just marinate

After an hour and a half or so of conversing, she’d gone from panic mode  to loose preparation. I’m sure this isn’t without a modicum of anxiety for her; however, she’s thinking it through. Storyboarding, mapping, planning, whatever you want to call it–she’s doing it.

I bring this subject up today because I’m thinking that many of us have been here. I’ve been going through it myself since I quit my job 5 months ago. What age do we stop moving around from place to place and job to job? Especially those of us that are childless, marriage-less, and without any real anchors. When you hit 30, should you just settle with your current job if it’s safe and secure? Or is it okay to live on the edge a little if the mood strikes you? I mean, we’re not in our 20s anymore when being careless was a viable and totally reasonable option.

Scoundrels, are you ready to talk thirty again? GO!

theVar & Sport from Talk Thirty To Me (via 12 Questions)

15 Feb

Something great happened yesterday. Come on, you didn’t hear about it? Well, boopussy to you, because 12 Questions launched and made us their first interview. We haven’t watched the vid yet, but we trust them. [Remember, we both hate watching ourselves on camera.]

The 12 Questions dynamic duo made us feel so warm and fuzzy inside with their eloquent words about us. Bah! Who do they think we are. Trying to make us feel all sappy and shit. Eff that noise.

Tonight they will be holding a launch party at Rackhouse Pub from 5pm to 8pm. Get your asses over there and say hi to our scuttle bugs, Becky and Spencer.

I’m not going hold you up any longer. Go watch and be merry, scoundrels.

Welcome to our first post! To get us started, we picked a pair of scoundrels that embody the spirit of what we’re going for with 12?s: true individuals with brash, energetic, and unique voices who are doing something, building communities and shaking things up. In 2010, Talk Thirty To Me emerged as a provocative, entertaining forum for plugged-in thirty-somethings. The brainchild of social media strategists LeVar Battle and Sara Downey (better kn … Read More

via 12 Questions

Best life vs. well, life

8 Feb

Mike just farted.

We’re waiting for me to have to poop again so we can collect a *shudder* sample.

One of the cats has a broken tail from me shutting it “sorta accidentally” in the door and the other cat keeps flooding the apartment.

We actually went and tried on Baby Bjorns this past weekend.

This is life as we know it.  After reading Jaime’s post yesterday, it sparked a thought in my mind about how we reconcile that notion of living our best life with the reality of everyday life.

I'mma flood dis' bitch

Although I am so happy and satisfied in so many aspects of my life, there are still things I want for myself and my family. For one, I’d like a job where my ideas are valued and the work and awards and all that crap that you put in year after year is not viewed as worthless to the boss.

I want to go to Paris.

I want to marry that man dropping ass bombs in the other room, ’cause you know, I love him and want to make sure he is completely trapped.

Ha! That’s what the baby is for.  LOLZ!

I want everyday to be filled with some adventure and some courage.

I want to eat my vegetables again and enjoy them. I really want that.

And I must admit, there are times when all those things I want just seem like they’re never going to happen because you know, I have to collect that sample, or the baby is going to want a drum kit, or the GD cat is going to flood the apartment again.

Those small real life episodes make seeing Paris in my best life feel like an intangible fantasy. I mean seriously, nothing feels further from the glamour of Paris than having faucet butt and assplosions. Nothing.

All of this is not to say that I’m not happy with all that I already have.  It’s just that as humans, we always want a little more, right? We want to accomplish something else, see one more thing, have just one more amazing experience.  It’s not to say that one is ungrateful for all the badassery already in their life, it’s just that well, I just want a little more too.

I feel like my question for you Scoundrels is all of that. How do you make your everyday-so-not-the-best-of-some-stuff, your best life? And at what point do you say that maybe good enough is the best?

Guest Post: Ch-ch-ch-change

7 Feb

Today’s post comes from a reader and a friend. Jaime and I played roller derby together and from her I learned that hard work, dedication and patience can pay off. I also learned that you can be a seriously hot mama and rock the world just by being yourself. She’s got some really great things to say in this post about being real with yourself, defining and living your best life, and facing challenges head on! I heart her face and hope you all enjoy her piece. -Sport

A year or so ago, a friend of mine started a blog about being 30 and how she was not happy turning the big 3-0. I, an old pro of 33 (at the time), posted a reply stating how wonderful it was. You have money! You are finally comfortable in your own skin! You know what you want to be when you grow up and you get to do it every day!

The truth is – I lied.

Every statement posted was a saccharine-infested fib.

Ninjabread men no like saccharine-infested fibs

For me anyway. Each birthday of my 30s has brought along with it a huge upheaval, both good and bad, of everything I’ve ever known:

• A week before my 30th I started a new job in an industry I thought I would enjoy and could grow in. (Yeah! A grown up job! Finally!)

• On a perfect Colorado fall day, a month after turning 30, I married a wonderful man who thinks I’m amazing (thought that would never happen!).

• For my 31st birthday I had settled into the first trimester of a very welcome pregnancy.

• I celebrated my 32nd birthday with a beautiful 4-month-old baby girl, a “mild” case of post-partum depression (it felt like a horrible case to me, but hey, I’m not a medical professional), and a body that was in constant pain due to hip and lower spine displacement issues. I hated being in my skin. Hated it.

• For my 33rd birthday my husband was two months into his first year of medical school and, unexpectedly, without a job. But I finally had relief from the pain, without drugs, and that was a huge plus.

• Last year, on my 34th birthday, I was down to working only 24 hours a week, which doesn’t leave much room for saving, and was once again pregnant. The cherry on top was the horrible realization that what I was doing for a living was not really what I wanted to do after all.

This year, the year I turn 35, will be the start of a long-term, change of living for our family. In a few short months I will leave my job to be a stay-at-home mom. It was after much debate, much indigestion, and very little sleep that the decision was made.

But I am still concerned about the future.

The realization that, in a few short months, there will be absolutely no income into our household is a bit staggering. How the hell will we provide basic needs for four people with no income?

I’ve always lived a very middle class life – never needed for anything, but never had to utter the ‘B’ word, much less live by it. If we wanted a new coat or book or whatever, we went to the store and got it. No one said “Not this week/month, it’s not part of the budget.” I, we, lived a good life.

We’ve already started the process of re-learning what it means to live your best life, and I admit, it’s been hard on me. I don’t how to live frugally or seriously abide by a budget. While some decisions will be easy (I will gladly eat ramen noodles so my daughter can have fresh strawberries and deli ham, the cable is long gone, and we’re all using cheap shampoo) some will be much harder – what can I sell for grocery/electric/water money? What bill can wait to be paid?

My grandmother always said that god only gives you what he knows you have the strength to handle – I’m going to trust her on that one. So one step at a time is how it’s going to be for now. No point in living life curled up in a ball on the closet floor crying and shoving Oreos into your face.

Besides, I’m always up for a good challenge. Keeps life interesting.

And then there was us…alone together.

3 Feb

Whether we want to admit it or not, insecurities are a constant struggle. -theVar

While perusing the internet last night I came across an article on the state of “our” sadness in correlation to Facebook. Wow. What an eye opener. I’d never thought about the fact of Facebook creating this mode of thinking that other people are happier than me. I seriously attributed my self-deprecating tendencies to the lack of happy pills in my routine. Maybe I should remove Facebook from my life?! *raises eyebrow* Naahhhh! I’ll gladly subject myself to this “grass is always greener” mentality–mostly because I’m a masochist. Just ask my last boyfriend.

In all seriousness though, Elana Premack Sandler brings up a good point about how “I [am] playing into this dynamic myself.” Despite the fact that I’d like to think I have and will tell my Facebook constituents that I’m a scared little boy and don’t know what I’m doing with my life or how I couldn’t pay my rent because of poor money management, the reality is I’ve created this bubble of My. Life. Rules. My selective identity is very close to the one she describes for herself. Hell, this rings true for 99% of the people I follow on Facebook. But then again, is Facebook the place to air your dirty laundry?

I’m going to be the first to tell you I don’t want to hear about your sad sack of a life. That’s why you pay your therapist; however, throwing out dirty intel about your less than perfect life here and there couldn’t hurt either. I mean, we have to be honest with ourselves first if we intend on growing as individuals. Your…correction…Our lives aren’t perfect, and to pretend otherwise makes us seem, well, fake.

I’m not saying that I’m going to tell you about the next time I get diarrhea and shit my pants in the grocery store, but I will give this notion of Facebook making us “alone together” a little more thought the next time I compose a status update. What are your reactions now that you see Facebook through a different lens?

Guest Post: Fuck, someone noticed!

27 Jan

Today our girl Shel talks about some hard shit. On one hand she’s talking about her weight  and health and how she’s going to deal with her situation.  But she’s also echoing the ideas of accountability and community that we’ve been mentioning this week. I must say, I’m on board with you, Shel! Be it support, well-timed jokes, or recipe swaps, I’m on Team Shel for this awesome undertaking.  <3

Last week, my best friend said I was fat.  I am paraphrasing, of course.  And while it came from a place of love, there was a second when I thought to myself “fuck, someone noticed!”  Umm…duh.

I have lived all my life pretty much ignoring the fact that I have weight issues and I am always so shocked when someone brings it up, or when my VW sized ass prevents me from doing something or wearing something that I feel like I should be able to do. 

In elementary school, it was noticed and brought up, but so was big ears, being tall, being short, being skinny, etc…everyone gets picked on in elementary school so it never seemed anything but ordinary.  In junior high, it was noticed but I was smart and funny, played volleyball and basketball and was a pretty popular fat kid.  So again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  In high school, I was super punk rock and played the violin.  I purposefully made myself noticed.  I was “the girl with the mohawk”, not the “fat girl”.  In my adult life, I have never wanted for friends, boyfriends, sex partners.  I have never let the fact that I wasn’t a size 6 stand in my way of getting anything I wanted.  My heath has always been good, no high blood pressure, no diabetes, never had high cholesterol.  I am outgoing, vivacious, fucking adorable and have always been up to something.  Not to mention a better than average self-esteem.  In short, my junk in the trunk was easy to ignore.  Until last week.

Last week, over an amazing Venezuelan dinner in NYC, my best friend said I was fat.  We talked about it, nothing was ignored, reality was on the table.  And because I love myself almost as much as he loves me, I committed to him that I would speak to my doctor and have a serious conversation regarding my weight.  Friday, after the nurse returned a blood pressure reading of ‘high’ for the first time in my life, that conversation happened.  I would say my timing is impeccable.

I talked, my doctor listened.  My doctor talked, I listed.  It was a highly productive and given my blood pressure rating, highly motivational chat.  Apparently, as you get older (wait…I am older too?  Son of a bitch!) your body has a more difficult time compensating for extra weight.  Everything works harder, your heart, your liver and kidneys, and therefore runs down much quicker.  And frankly, I have no time to be running down.  I have way too much shit to do.

So, with that conversation, some typical obsessive/compulsive spreadsheet creation, and enrolling some key people in my goal, a number was set. 50 pounds by Jan 01, 2012.  I struggled with whether or not to put this out into the public domain but I am hoping by doing that, I will be held accountable.  By saying the words out loud, I have made it real.  Here’s to keeping it real, ya’all.

By the way, my BFF also said that I am whoring around too much (validating my self-esteem, thank you!) and drinking too much.  In my defense, Rome wasn’t built in a day and I need a cocktail.  One thing at a time.

Stories and morals

26 Jan

mmmmrrruuuuummmmppphhhh *whale sounds* uuuunnnnnnggggghhh *fart*  ooommmppffff.

That would be the series of sounds I make now when I get in and out of bed. Sort of like my very own exciting and extremely sexy mating call. Or a warning sound to Mike that the room is about to smell less pleasant.

Change, it seems, has become an undeniable part of my life these days. Be it my changing body or the change in my ability to do all the things I was once able to.

And man was I in denial about that last bit.

Uh BooPussy!

Scene: I was really excited for the new Cold War Kids album to come out yesterday. They are one of my favorite bands. I la la la la love them and want to have their babies.  Not really, because being pregnant is fucking horrible, but in theory, I want to have their babies.

I downloaded the album Monday night and got in the tub for my nightly soak to ward off achey pains and feelings of wanting to stab people.

Backstage: This year has been filled -ALREADY- with an insane amount of work and activity.  So much so that I decided to take my 6 months preggo ass out of town last weekend. Between work, more work, extra-cirrics, cats that seem to enjoy flooding our apartment, baby arrival anxiety, hormone fueled mood swings, genuine exhaustion, a recent bout of insomnia, fears of gestational diabetes, my new found limited mobility, and the emotional wear of a-holes at work commenting on my non-betrothed – ooohh-you’ve-put-on-a-lot-of-weight status – well, it’s all a little much.

Scene: Track one. Hmmmm, not spectacular. Ummmm, well this is not working for me at all.  At least the bath is relaxing. If only there wasn’t a cat pawing at the door. Meh. Wait, this Cold War Kids album must be a mix up. There is something suspiciously off about this. I think this is a Christian rock band. The CWK are way too creepy to sound like this. It’s like…OMG, it’s like Creed.  What the fuck is going on?

Backstage: Cut to a booth at Chilis. LeVar is literally yelling at me. It’s fine. We’re true friends. We hold each other accountable. We’re writing partners, business partners, and genuine friends. We respect each other. Sure it doesn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of the call out, but it’s necessary.  Words coming at me begin to sound eerily like the same words Mike has been saying for a couple weeks. Withdrawing, shutting down, not engaging. Boopussy. Guilty as charged. I’m overwhelmed. Something has to give.

Scene: Panic has officially set in as I realize that CWK has tried to be all things to all people instead of the band that won my heart with clamoring songs of betrayal, faith and profound lyrical badassery.  They’re trying to do it all and letting down those who love them the most.

Backstage: Word. CWK, me too.

Scene: I can’t even finish this album in one sitting. It’s painful.

So there it is. The new CWK album sucks a bag of dicks. And I simply can’t do it all anymore.  My Type A personality is having some serious issues with this.  A sense of misplaced guilt has sprouted. And I so don’t do guilt.

The moral of this story: I’m sure there comes a time for all of us when this reorganization of life occurs.  Mine just seems to be now.  Scoundrels, how do you juggle it all?  And have you heard the new CWK album? Ugh, right?

And a P.S. to the a-holes at work with the snide comments: DIAF. Seriously.

Does a man’s sexuality change in his 30s?

25 Jan

 

Straight from his mouth to God's ears.

You may think I made that up, but no! Someone actually found TTTM by searching for today’s blog title. First, I’d like to offer up, “Oh, man, thinking about the sexual conquest possibilities really makes me squish.” Clean up on aisle Var, please.

 

Anyhoo, I can only assume that this Googler, or whatever, was attempting to find out if men tend to come to terms with their sexual curiosity in their 30s more so than any other decade of existence. Personally, if someone were to say yes, I’d contend bollocks. That’s not to say it doesn’t happen, but that it happens when a person is comfortable enough with who they are and don’t worry about how the world views them. I’m not basing this on any statistics I’ve read or any specialists I’ve consulted. This is just my gut instinct.

Now this brings some questions to mind for me. 1.) Why would someone question their sexuality after 3 decades? 2.) <I pray the Googler is still following the blog, and if so, are you in a state of flux/questioning about your own sexuality? Do you have a friend experiencing this? Essentially, why did you google/yahoo/bing this string of terms? 3.) Hell, I want to know the answer to all of these when you substitute ‘woman’ for ‘man’. We’re dying to know your thoughts, so feel free to pipe up. In other words, comment. Do it!

I’ve gotta say I’m feeling very Dan Savage right now.

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