Because I’m gonna be in a bikini soon… a lot.

I posted an ad on craigslist in the “Strictly Platonic” personals for a workout buddy. Does that bring me into the realm of official loserdom? Maybe, but my ass is (literally we hope) gettin’ in gear. We haven’t booked tickets for our move to the ocean yet, but we will soon (like, this weekend). And whatever those tickets end up being, we will likely be 2 months out… which leaves me thinking, oh $#!&.

To my delight a young lady gleefully responded that she too, was in need of a workout buddy, at the same gym. YES! We have yet to connect, but tonight is hopefully our first meeting. I’m a bit nervous… is that weird?

See, I’m not in terrible shape. But I could honestly stand to lose like 15lbs of chub. Ah… being a woman in today’s world. Pressure. Anyways, wish me luck!

Whoa… where have I been?

All of a sudden I’ve been super busy… which is not the norm, as I usually waste the days away at work online. Blogs of course. But to keep you all entertained dear readers, how about a story to break up the silence? I call it…

That Time I Fell in the Riverwalk

Most of my “pre-8 year old” life was spent growing up in a little neighborhood on the outskirts of good ol’ Chicago. It was probably around the time I was 5 or 6… maybe creeping in on 7. All I know is that I could swim (thank goodness). Then again… I was an excellent swimmer as far back as I can remember, “like a fish” as my mom puts it.

One day while the grandparents were in town visiting… we ventured out to the Riverwalk to feed the ducks. One of our favorite pastimes. My older sister and I would begin feeding ducks, bit by bit, from our big loaf of store bought Wonder bread. We loved how they came charging over to get pieces, a race against all of the other ducks. Sometimes we’d pick favorites… that cute one with the green head and the funny waddle. She got more bread. The mean one that trumped all the little ducks? No bread for you!

This particular day I found myself sort of on my own… older sister down the way, parents yapping further down. I was content feeding the ducks… getting a little closer to the edge than I’d been allowed. Just a smidge closer for a better throw to my chosen duck… just a– splash! In the water.

From my point of view, it was terrifying. The giant ducks with their sharp little beaks were charging at me! A big piece of bread in their eyes! I was doomed. Thankfully, I was mere inches from the sidewalk and managed in all my fear to pull myself out of the water. And amazingly… no one saw, or heard, a thing (my parents are good at their job, I promise). Worried I would get in trouble for crossing the “too close” parent imposed line… I wondered if they’d notice. Older sister ventured over with a loud “what happened to you!?” I shushed her and told her she’d better not tell mom and dad.

But alas… our friendship was betrayed when she ran off to, yes, tell mom and dad. But, seriously, they would have probably noticed I was sopping wet. Maybe? So the day at the Riverwalk ended with a ride home in my undies.

The thing about money is…

I never seem to have enough. But not in the same way everyone else seems to not have money. You know those people, the ones who say things just to say them? Yeah, all, “oh I’m so broke too (tee hee)! Want to get some dinner and see a movie?” Um… no, because, I’m ACTUALLY broke thanks.

Honestly… I could have more money. I could have kept my full time job instead of running off to work for myself and then failing when I realized the city I’m in has NO market. Well it does… but it’s so full of cheap clients and green designers willing to work for pennies. So any self respecting designers, like yours truly, can’t make a buck for our endless talents. So then I took the part time job. Ah, the part time job. The “job/daycare center” that I can’t stand to be at. That one. Needless to say, I can’t keep my broke ass there long enough every day to make enough money.

Today for example I thought to myself, I’d like to get some groceries. The fridge is kinda empty and you know, I’m bound to get hungry at some point this weekend… so that might a smart use of time. Well, unfortunately, the bank account disagreed with this idea. The bank account laughed at me and said, “HA! You want to buy food and get to work this week… I think not.” So now I’m in munch-on-whatever’s-in-the-pantry mode, which isn’t fun. Because there’s really only canned green chili and that super healthy, bought two years ago and couldn’t eat without vomiting cereal. (sigh).

Being a grown-up sucks.

Being blocked sucks.

I like to think of myself as a creative. I’m a writer, a designer, an artist… expressive, sensitive, etc. But since, oh, a year or so ago, I’ve been a BLOCKED creative. This is no fun I say. Right now I’m reading The Artist’s Way… workin’ on become an unblocked, and more spiritual, creative once again. Ms. Cameron talks about how you have to just let it come to you… stop forcing it… let the “source” speak through you.

I’ve decided to nickname this “source” Gus. Who is Gus? Gus is my Godly Universe Source. Because as I’ve said before, I’m a recovering Catholic, I’m not really a fan of the God I was raised to believe in. He seems a little mean… a little judgemental… but that’s probably just his crazy psycho followers warping my perspective (no offense). I’ve recently learned a little bit more about Buddhism, realizing not only that I like it… but that I’ve kinda always been one. I believe there is something “greater” out there… some sort of universal force or whatever, I’m just not sure what it is to me yet and where I stand spiritually… until I figure that out, Gus is what I plan to call him/her/it.

Gus may be that universal force that interconnects all things in life. Gus may be the one who sicks karma on my ass when he finds out about me cutting off that woman this morning… (she started it, I swear). Gus may be my spirit guide and actually be a wolf… I don’t know. Gus may be the creative muse in my life that hasn’t paid me a visit in years… or Gus could be the muse that only wants to visit me in the damn car. I’m driving, hello?

This has been happening a lot lately. I’m starting to feel like the block is beginning to clear… bits and pieces of idead, stories, poems pop into my head. In the CAR. While I’m DRIVING. When I get to work? Home? Idea is gone… I cannot seem to catch it. Maybe I should buy a voice recorder?

Anyone else experience this? Ideas, solutions??

You know you’re an “adult” when you outgrow Puffy Shoes.

I’ve been wearing sandals all summer… and today, after a night of rain, I decided to wear some real shoes. Rummaging through the shoe rack (most of which are the boyfriends… yeah really), I came across my Puffy Shoes. I’ve always loved them… they’re these brownish gray with pink Vans I bought… uh, in high school. I wore them all the time, I loved them, did I say that? Whenever I see someone in their Puffy Shoes, I think to myself how much I wish I was wearing mine.

See, when I was in high school… skateboarding was in and Puffy Shoes were THE thing. This meant you could find them in any possible color combo at almost any store. Let me make it clear that I am not a trend follower. I don’t buy or wear things because it’s the “hip” thing to do… example? I’ve never in my life and will never in my life wear the hairy boots over my pants in winter… boots maybe… when it’s actually necessary, but not those fluffy “stylish” ones that were in all last winter. Or was it the year before? Doesn’t matter. HATE IT. I was also the only teenager in 2001 that did NOT streak my hair. “Plain brown hair!? GAY!”(I did not call everything gay either…)

But this morning as I trotted around the apartment in my Puffy Shoes… something wasn’t right. They weren’t as comfortable… they weren’t as cute… they made my shirt look funny. Huh. So I slipped them off and put on my less puffy shoes… and I liked it better. Then I began to wonder if change in fashion taste meant maturity in some way… regardless, I will always keep my Puffy Shoes. Mostly for the day when my kids scoff at my old photos saying, “what are those ugly things on your feet!?” I can bust them out and embarrass them at school functions.

Happy Hump Day people.

I’m at work… but no one will notice that I am blogging (even though I face the wall while my screen faces everyone else… horrible setup). You see… today, apparently, was bring your kids to work day. Kids are not uncommon at my office… the owner’s daughter comes in every day. Extremely smart two year old, however also extremely hyper-active. Occasionally another child or two will be here… stuffed in an office with a portable DVD player. Today though… there are too many.

Earlier, I was certain that there were eight kids here. Turns out they were all just moving around the office a lot faster than I realized because there are only six. Six of the loudest, most terrorizing kids, all led by the little hyper-active two year old. Big rubber balls are flying off the walls… strollers are involved in high speed races down the hall… and pizza isn’t making it into mouths. They’re cute. I’ll give them that… but together they are hell in tiny shoes. There’s been a tooth knocked out… a black eye… a lot of screaming… things like “THEY WON’T LET ME PLAY WITH MY DADDY PRINCE DOLL!” I don’t know what a Daddy Prince Doll is, but it’s apparently the most sought after toy of the day.

So if this post makes no sense… it’s because screaming and laughing and high pitched squeals are getting in the way of my brain forming thoughts.

That time I got grounded from my room.

Yeah, you read that right. Grounded. From my BEDROOM.

You see, I’m a Recovering Catholic and back when I was in middle school I was forced to attend CCD, or Catechism, every Sunday morning before church. Thanks Dad. I never enjoyed it… too many questions I wasn’t allowed to ask and too much telling me why I was going to hell… plus, it was early Sunday morning.

After what seemed like ages to us both, my older sister finally received her driver’s license and was given the great responsibility of driving us to church and hour and a half before mass. We went… a few times… until we realized, hey, Dad’s not gonna know the difference! We thought we would just get to church earlier than him and wander in about the same time as the other students. It was the perfect plan, and we succeeded for a couple weeks… then, the epic failure.

Like past Sunday mornings we chipperly headed out the door to “CCD.” We drove over to Burger King, loaded up on morning munches (I cannot remember now where this money came from as neither of us had jobs or allowance) and went for a drive. Our drives were neither scenic nor involved a particular destination other than any road with a large bump we could launch the Ford escort station wagon off. We had a grand time… then we headed over to church. This particular morning it became apparent to us that a car two cars back seemed to look a lot like Dad’s… upon further observation we calmly assessed it indeed was DAD. Two cars back.

“WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO!?” my older sister panicked. After all, she was the “responsible” party in this situation having been instructed to take us to Church… an hour and a half ago. We played through possible scenarios… if he hadn’t seen us, we could just keep driving and hope he doesn’t notice our car missing. We could turn in and say class ended early and we went for breakfast… instead, we decided on what seemed to be the best option… we’ll just pull off. He won’t see us. As quickly as possible she whipped the car into a pizzeria parking lot and pulled around the back. Tense… we waited to see dad pass by the other side… then… BAM! There he was in our rear view mirror.

We screamed. Like a scary movie… and took off. Yes… we TOOK OFF and ran from DAD. A high speed chase at 30mph which ended in the church parking lot where we accepted our fate. He was irate. We told him it was the only time… of course, attendance showed otherwise which really only put us in a bigger pickle. We were in loads of trouble. He would drive us to CCD, sister would be grounded from the car… and, we were grounded from our bedrooms. OUR BEDROOMS.

Our beds were moved in to the computer room and we were not allowed to use our own bathrooms (spoiled? No…) We could not watch TV, talk on the phone or go anywhere other than school and church. We made up rules for chess (which we had never before played… think super checkers) and played that all day. He also removed the doors from their hinges… yeah. And all we did was skip CCD.

What’s the most unusual punishment you’ve ever received?

Must. Sit.

I just spent way too long at the mall with the boyfriend. I am not a mall girl. I do not do the shopping thing unless I need something. Today I decided I needed a purse. After a couple hours and hitting five too many stores… we left with no purse and a bag of goodies for the boyfriend. (sigh)

Note to self: Your purse is fine.

Welcome to the Glee Club…

Hello blogland… welcome to the Lonely Hearts Glee Club. You can call me Lil’ Miss Lonely as no, I could not think of a better name when racing to secure said blog name (don’t you love). Let’s get to know eachother…

The first time in my life I experienced depression, I was 13. My parents were already divorced, one half remarried to the piano teacher (my fault, but that’s another story) and the other half was in his angry phase (which oddly ran paralell to his competing for more love with candy and pagers phase). I still don’t know what started it, if anything particular, I just remember how it ended… One night after a fight with my mom, and me being uninvited from the family dinner out, I decided that was it. Time to kill myself. I was tired and had had enough of life at the ripe age of 13.

I walked into the kitchen and went straight to the medicine cabinet… without reading labels I took a bunch of pills out of an assortment of prescription bottles, a good amount of (yes) Tylenol and probably some Sudafed (ha ha). Easy as pie I thought as I headed back to my room. When I laid down on my bed I had a revelation they say most suicide attemptees have… I did not want to die. And that’s all I remember. A couple hours later (which I noted by the change of daylight) I awoke on the trampoline in the backyard with my dog passed out next to me. I felt sick to my stomach and highly confused, how the hell did I get outside?

The very next day (probably with glowing skin and shiny hair as I likely downed a bunch of vitamins having not checked the dang labels, d’oh) I wrote a long letter to my mom telling her all about the incident and other related events. She bought me some over-the-counter-wanna-be-anti-depressant (aka St John’s) and took me to a therapist. The pills were stinky, and along with the strong resistance to what I thought would be “fake” happiness, I did not take them. I remember the therapist… some old lady with a curly poof on her head. I didn’t like her. I’m also not a talker and I refused to go back.

Around the same time AOL was blowing up. You remember IM and chat rooms? Yeah… oh, you still do that? That’s uh, (lame) cool. Anyways, in some depression chat room or discussion board or some other AOL meeting grounds… I met Ashley. She was about my age, maybe a little older… she was also depressed and unhappy. She had also tried to kill herself. We began emailing daily, bonding over our shared experience and hatred for school. During this time I realize that I was a heck of a lot better at writing my feelings than sitting down with a total (older) stranger… and this was how I healed. Through a stranger’s compassion and understanding. Which leads us back to this blog.

I’ve (not so suddenly) found myself back in this place… I’ve been feeling a big heavy aching of loneliness and sadness in my life… no real close friends, boyfriend (for now) is unable to be “available” enough and family doesn’t “get” me. So here I am. Let’s bond! Let’s be friends and let’s help one another out… I have no idea where this is going… I just know I like writing and I love the community of blogland. So that’s that! Say hello, I love comments and email!