Archive | February, 2011

Good-Bye for Now

25 Feb

Dear Friends and Blog Readers,

I am currently not well as many of you may have picked up on. I am going to cease writing my blog until I get well for two reasons.

1.) The criticism is hard to take. And right now I’m not strong enough to deal with the haters.

2.) I love writing my blog, but I need to get better so I can be a better mother to my daughter Eva. Looking her in the face every day is enough to make me know I want to get better, but I’m good at faking it and pretending like things are OK. Then I find myself wanting to murder someone over not using their turn signal and it makes me start to wonder….gee…what’s up with that psycho (meaning myself).

Allowing myself this time to re-evaluate my life goals, my wants, my dreams and my desires without the diversion of my blog will help me to remember what is important to me. I’m good at distracting myself with wine and Facebook and shopping and blogging and doing anything – ANYTHING – but deal with the pain that I have been experiencing for some time.

Like a teenager who has gotten bad grades I’m taking something away from myself that I love – my blog/a car for a teen – in order to concentrate on getting well.

I will come back with rants, but rants a little better than General Disaster emailing me to “shove it up my ass” (I mean, why did I even bother to respond to that turd, seriously?) and hopefully back with some good stories, too, as I’ve been asked to open up about the good stuff in my life, and believe me there is tons. My pessimistic nature just tends to look at the bad.

I was working on a piece that I decided not to share, but here is a bit of it:

My blog from 2 weeks ago sparked some emotions from my readers. Some of my readers saw the glass ½ full – I am fashionable, and well, now, stylish according to the Target ladies. I should take it as a compliment! It’s a part of who I am! It’s OK to be me!

Others could see where I was coming from. Maybe I was seeing the glass ½ empty. I felt insulted. My ego took a serious bruising. I felt like I needed everyone to know that I DO care how others view me. I’m NOT a dumb ass.

But, the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter what I do or say. You’re going to think what you want to think. Some of you will love me and some of you will hate me. Some of you will love me but hate things I say….and vice versa.

And that’s OK!

I’m still learning with this blogging experience. It feels good to get my thoughts down on paper. It feels good to get emails from people saying, “I know exactly how you feel!”

But, the criticism is tough, and I’m learning to deal with that, too. It doesn’t feel good to get emails from people telling me I’m stupid … or I have issues … or I’m a bad mother. But, that’s part of the territory. I put myself out there for people to judge me. I have to deal with the good and the bad.

I will be back. I promise! :)

~MUAH

 

Here’s an Idea…

21 Feb

“Take your spam and shove it up your ass.”

So was emailed to me today by General Disaster which inspired this blog. First and foremost, thank you General Disaster for your lovely words. I am truly touched that you took two minutes out of your life to help me come up with a blog topic – this blog topic – which questions …

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH SOCIETY.

Well, my answer to you, blog friends, would be General Disaster. General Disaster is what the fuck is wrong with society. Hiding behind a fake name he feels he can say or do whatever he wants with no consequences. The world has lost all touch with reality…with face-to-face hello’s and good-bye’s.

I’ve blogged before about how fucking rude people are and how much it annoys me, but that was in the case of Eugene Levy slamming the door in my face or Dunkin B*tch being a God-awful bitch to me every morning at Dunkin Donuts.

The difference between Eugene Levy and Dunkin B*tch is they have the guts to be rude to someone’s face. Whether they have balls or are just plain ignorant morons, who knows, but at least they look me in the eye when they decide to be douchebags. As least they face me “like a man.” Unlike General Disaster. General Disaster, who shoots a negative email off into cyber space and somehow feels vindicated, as though he is going to somehow change the world with his snarky and narcissistic behavior.

Well, news flash, General Disaster. Hiding behind an email does not make you smart. Or funny. Or tough. Or sophisticated. Hiding behind the name “General Disaster” is wimpy and childish. At least have the balls to email me your name when you decide to tell me to shove my spam up my ass. At least invite a response.

What am I even talking about? How did this all even begin, you ask?

I often post my blog address on Craig’s List. Before you boo me — I post it in the volunteer section. I post that I’m looking for blog readers and that I’d like people to email me ideas for blog topics.

I’ve been written before by a fellow writer who said posting my blog on Craig’s List is like “soliciting” fans. I see his point. But, I look at it as free advertising. I’m actually advertising my blog for readers through a free service. Is it really any different than posting my blog updates on Facebook?

Agree or disagree, I don’t really care! I actually think it makes me rather smart and ambitious to put my words out there. I keep hoping that someone – a publisher, or Donald Trump, emails me back that they are dying to give me money – like millions – to write a novel for them. You just never know. I’m sure I’m dreaming.

Anyways …. so I posted my blog “ad” on Craig’s List/Chicago/Volunteers and within minutes I get an email with the subject: idea for your blog

Yayy! A comment, I think.

I open the email to find: Here’s an idea–take your spam and shove it up your ass.

Wow. Moving. Intellectual. Funny. Well, it is actually funny because I started laughing my ass off.

I was cracking up that General Disaster was possibly trying to ruin my day and make me feel bad…much like the “Fashion Conscious” writers at my writer’s conference, but this time I triumphed.

This time instead of being a wimp and crying about people not taking me seriously, or me being stupid because I care about US Weekly and Teen Mom, or me wallowing in self-pity tonight with a bottle of Cabernet – there will be wine though tonight – this time I’m standing tall and proud and giving General Disaster a big ‘ol F You! If you don’t like it, too fucking bad!

Go ahead, General Disaster, and hide behind your identity. It’s much easier to do mean things to someone anonymously. To not have to face them and look them in the eye. It’s easy sending an email telling someone to “shove it up their ass.”

But I have more class than that.

Well…sort of. More class would be me deleting the email and not giving a shit. But, today just doesn’t feel like that kind of day. So here you go readers. Remember to treat others with kindness and respect for you never know if they will blog about you.

Thank you, General Disaster, for inspiring me to write this blog with YOUR blog idea! And next time you want to be a douche, please leave your name at least.

Fashion Conscious

13 Feb

As I start this blog I’m not sure where to begin. I’m not sure what I want to say, I just feel compelled to get this off my chest…out into cyber space and officially out of my heart and soul.

Maybe my posts don’t do me justice? Maybe I come off as a money hungry bitch? I’ve built this wall around me. The wall is so tall and so thick that even I don’t know who I am anymore. So how do I expect you guys to know who I am?

I tell you I’m crazy…I tell you about my Juicy Couture purses and jammies….I tell you about my Mercedes. Do I tell you I’m someone’s daughter? Someone’s granddaughter? Do I tell you I’m surrounded by people who love me – friends and family – but I’m utterly alone?? I feel alone all the time.

I don’t know what my purpose is on God’s green Earth, but I’m determined to find it. I’m determined to show you that I do have a purpose. I’m not some dumb ex-sorority girl!

My purpose is more than US Weekly and Teen Mom…it’s more than my BFF Giuliana and Bill and my love for Britney Spears….it’s more than a fucking Mercedes Benz and some $20 DKNY panties. It’s more than Juicy Couture purses and Von Maur shopping sprees….

My closet full of Steve Madden heels and Express clothes? You can have it!

My Clinique make-up and OPI nail polish? Take it!

The truth is I hide. I hide behind the make-up and the big fake eye lashes. I hide behind the fashion and accessories.

I’m a phony. I name my blog “If You Think I’m a B*tch So Be It” but the truth of the matter is that I’m so desperate for your approval, for anyone’s approval, that I’m terrified to show ME to anyone out there.

I seized the day this weekend….I drove 5.5 hours to Kentucky. By myself. To attend a writer’s conference. Turns out that writer’s aren’t like me. Or I’m not like most writer’s. Smart and bookish and interested in the goings-on of the world. What do I have to contribute to this conversation? It’s not that I don’t know what’s going on in the world, I do, it’s just that I tend to know more about what is going on in Lindsey Lohan’s life than Egypt. Maybe that’s sad. Maybe I am stupid.

But, I don’t think it’s that I am stupid. I have opinions about the world. I know what’s going on out there, I just choose to distant myself because I don’t like the way the world is becoming. I don’t like the stupid and greedy people…I don’t like how government stays the same time and time again…I don’t like how people have no tolerance for one another and can’t see the gray in situations. People see black or white, right or wrong….I don’t. I see all shades of color. I see all sides.

I actually think that makes me a very bright and empathetic person. And maybe I’m happy to have my own views on the world in my own head? I don’t feel confident enough in myself to get into political battles with people about something that I can’t change.

I’d much rather just discuss what Angelina Jolie wore to the Oscars. Or my Dunkin Donuts stalker.

So I’m at this writer’s conference, and I’m in a room full of people who are supposed to be like me. People who are artistic and open minded and have a way with words….and I stick out like a sore thumb.

I don’t fit. I don’t match. And I don’t mean my clothes because you know my outfit looked damn good. I mean ME. Feeling like I was back in junior high I felt awkward and unsure. I felt scared and vulnerable. I felt completely out of place.

Given the exercise to describe people….description is obviously very important in writing…and I get described as “fashionable.”

What. The. Fuck.

Am I so shallow that after spending hours with me the only word you can think of to describe me is “fashionable?”

Of allllllllllllll the words in the English language and hours of talking to me you come up with “fashionable.”

Wow. What does that say about me? How do people view me? I wanted to cry. I wanted to say, “That’s not me!”

“Don’t you see!”

I wanted to yell, “Don’t you see I have a big heart? And I’m honest and loyal and loving and determined and energetic and kind?”

But no. No, you see the fashion. You see that I carry a purple Juicy Couture bag. You see that I’m wearing torn Express jeans – though you don’t know they’re Express nor do you know they are in fashion – and big gold and black earrings and gold and silver bangles up and down my arms. You see the gray v-neck tee and the lacy black top snug on my breasts. You see the faux fur lined purple plaid vest and my perfectly manicured purple nails. You see my long black hair shiny and straight, perfectly coifed to one side.

But you can’t be bothered to see underneath. My clothes don’t define me. My big brown eyes don’t define me. My straight white teeth don’t define me.

Don’t you see? Don’t you see I’d give it all away? I’d be fat and ugly and poor and mismatched….for 5 minutes of pure happiness.

5 minutes of feeling loved and peaceful and pure and happy.

Maybe the problem isn’t me, but you. Maybe you can’t open your eyes and see anything other than someone’s appearance. Sorry I’m attractive and “fashion conscious.” Sorry I’m not like you. Sorry I thought you were maybe someone more like me, someone who gave a damn about what is underneath.

When I strip off the Ugg Boots and the Calvin Klein bra and the Juicy Couture jammies I’m just a girl.

I’m just me.

Hi…My name is Jen and I am a….LOVE ADDICT?

5 Feb
 

Sacred Love Versus Profane Love (1602–03) by Giovanni Baglione. Courtesy of www.wikipedia.com

I know. Only me, right? Why can’t I be an alcoholic? It sounds so much cooler. But, no. No, not me. I’m a fucking love addict.

What the fuck is right.

Trust me; I’m right there with you.

Well, apparently this is a real “disease” that people (me) suffer from. I found out about it by watching Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. One of the celebrities (Rachel Uchitel, Tiger Woods’ former lover) suffers from an addiction to love. When she started telling her story I thought, gee, that kind of sounds like me. Wow, that really sounds a lot like me! WTF?

So I started researching the condition. Turns out it’s totally me.

I burst into tears. “What the fuck is this??” I yelled to my husband. “Seriously, I can’t be an alcoholic? Something “normal”?”

My husband laughed and said, “It’s better than being Bi-Polar.”

These doctors don’t know what they are doing. Yes, I was told by one doctor that I was Bi-Polar, which I vehemently denied. I’ve been called an alcoholic by my old counselor. I’ve been called a manic depressive by the Crazy Shrink. Then I suffered violently from the Post Partum Depression, as my blog readers know.

I’ve worked very hard on myself; taking meds and going to counseling to try to overcome all the anger and sadness I have been plagued with to be the best mother I can be to Eva and the best version of myself for me.

But, I still wasn’t happy. In fact, I was miserable. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. People started telling me how happy I should be. How so many women would give anything to have what I have…to have my life; my baby, my husband, my house….

My head started going crazy.

What is wrong with me????

I decided I was moving away. Eva and I were getting the hell out of here. We needed to escape. Go somewhere…anywhere. Then I figured out it was me. I needed to escape. But from what? From me? From the pain? From all of my “issues?”

This is when I started researching “Love Addiction.”

As I write this blog I’m scared and embarrassed and confused. What will you all think? Will you all laugh at me? Will you all think that I’m a freak? Part of me wants to laugh and part of me wants to cry.

But I have to write it. I have to face this. My first reaction, of course, was complete denial. I’m still in a stage of denial, really.

Love addiction.

What a fucking joke.

What is a love addict you ask?

According to Wikipedia, love addiction is described as: a human behavior in which people become addicted to the feeling of being in love. Love addicts can take on many different behaviors. Love addiction is common; however, most love addicts do not realize they are addicted to love. Love addiction can be treated with various recovery techniques, most of which are similar to recovery from other addictions such as sex addiction and alcoholism, through group meetings and support groups.

Another, more simple description is: when love is your drug of choice, your obsessive need, your high.

“With a love addiction at first you can think of nothing more than being with the one you love. You want to touch and hold and care for the other person. From the moment of first passion – the moment in which you are utterly convinced that you have found the love of your life – you are in ecstasy.” (By Rita Wilson, on www.theexaminer.com.)

It’s that feeling of ecstasy that hooks me…like an alcoholic taking their first drink…like a drug addict getting high…that’s what happens to me. Only it starts and ends with flirting….but I’m a huge flirt.

But please, let me clarify, there are different kinds of love addicts, and love addicts are NOT sex addicts. I’m not out sleeping around on my husband.

The truth is I form inappropriate friendships with people through flirting, and then I find myself “falling” for them to get that high…the euphoria….that “drug.”

I then start to question everything about my life. My happiness. My marriage. My own sanity. I contemplate completely throwing my life away …leaving my husband. Leaving Chicago. Going somewhere. Anywhere. That I can be happy. But no such place exists.

This is what I keep telling myself, what I know and understand – that I can only find happiness within myself – but I can’t quite seem to grasp it. I’m struggling with that and have questioned whether I’ve been happy at all in my whole life?

I’m sure I have been….at some point.

There are even several different types of love addicts.

  • Obsessed love addicts
  • Codependency addicts
  • Relationship addicts
  • Narcissistic love addicts
  • Ambivalent love addicts
  • Torch bearers
  • Seductive withholders
  • Romance addicts

Dr. Stanford Peele says (on http://www.psychologytoday.com/conditions/sex-and-love-addiction) of the seven top addictions, love is the hardest to break. He says, “Love. Ah, Love is the hardest addiction to quit. It certainly causes more murders and suicides than any other addiction. And if you think people miss smoking, consider what people are like when they break up with long-term lovers or get divorced – even when they hate their spouses!”

What are some of the signs of a typical love addict? According to www.ezinearticles.com signs include, but are not limited to:

- Feeling isolated, detached from parents and family;

- Compartmentalization of relationships: Do you keep your romantic relationships separate from other parts (and people) in your life? Do you have a double life?

- Do You Try to avoid rejection and abandonment at any cost?

- An abiding fear of trust. Do you have trouble truly trusting and giving up “control” in a relationship for fear your partner will disappear?

- Relationship Necessity: Do you feel it is imperative for you to be in a relationship at all times?

- Feelings that a relationship/sex makes one whole, or more of a man or woman;

- An Escalation of High Risk Behavior: Are you willing to take chances, break laws or even risk personal humiliation to see or connect with your partner?

- Intense need to control self, others, circumstances; Do you feel helpless when situations, or outcomes are out of your control?

In Googling “Love Addiction” I found that these were the basic signs of a love addict, however, different websites did have some differences in their assessments.

How do people become addicts?

According to www.pureintimacy.org “Unresolved family trauma is at the root of most major life conflicts facing individuals and families.”

Again, in doing my research for both myself and for this post I found that many websites blamed “family trauma” for addictions.

I’m not saying this is my family’s fault, but those of you who really know me know that I went through a very difficult time with my family. I think that in turn gave me a fear of abandonment, which has in turn caused me to have a love addiction.

I’m working closely with my counselor to get help with this…I’m not sure what that will entail yet. A 12-step program? Rehab? I’m not sure…but I need to do something because I’m destroying my family, and I’m destroying myself.

Stay tuned…you all know everything anyways so I might as well keep you posted. Thanks for the support, Readers.

** Obviously I’m not a doctor. If you think you or someone you know suffers from love addiction, please consult your physician.

 

 

 

 

More Updates

5 Feb
My ring and candle from Papa Voodoo

While I’m in the spirit of updating you all I figured I should update you on my way old previous posts of the Swear Jar & the Voodoo bullshit I got myself into. I’ve linked the old blogs for you in case you don’t remember or have yet to read them.

Let’s start with “To Voodoo or Not to Voodoo?”  because this will be a quick lesson in let the buyer beware. I’m not saying Voodoo is a scam – no way would I speak or even think those words – but Papa Voodoo did not do any Voodoo-ing for me that I’m aware of. For $40 he sent me a candle and a cheesy gumball machine ring. And he performed my “Voodoo Cleanse” of course, which was to rid me of my bad spirits and cleanse my soul.

Oh, and about my ring…he asked me my favorite color and said my ring would come with a stone in that color. Yeah, I gave him 3 colors and my ring is none of those colors. WTF Papa Voodoo?

Anyways, so the day my ring and candle came in the mail I excitedly ripped the packaging open. OMG, this is it. Papa is performing my Voodoo Cleanse as we speak. I will be a new woman. I can’t wait.

For the first week not much of anything seemed to happen? Hmm…maybe the joke was on me? I think. Or maybe I’m not believing deeply enough? I tried to really believe…..

I don’t know, Readers, but I don’t think I’ve been “cleansed” of anything. I’m still the same crabby Italian bitch with a chip on my shoulder. So…thanks a lot Papa Voodoo. I wonder what he did with my $40?

Now…onto the Swear Jar which was actually the blog post “I Don’t Give a Fuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkk.” This could be one of my all-time favorite posts. Seriously, I love this post as much as I love saying the word fuck. So, how do you think this experiment went? Let me give you a hint….

I fucking failed.

I fucking failed fucking miserably.

I tried sooo hard. I really did try hard. I swear to you! I put a penny jar on my desk at work…and then anytime I said – or even thought! – the F word I truly put a penny in the jar. How many pennies were in there? I don’t know, people, I gave up after like a week. It was utter craziness. I was going broke.

I said, “Well, fuck this!” and then I dropped one more penny in the jar….

See, the problem is there was no real motivation for me. I mean, other than the fact that my daughter Eva’s first word will probably be fuck. Please, God, let her not say that in front of my Italian Papa because he will die. I’m serious. Then I will die.

I mean, that’s my only real motivation. I’m very motivated by prizes and such…and there was no prize for me here. I mean, except to destroy my potty mouth and raise a sweet child. Hahahahahahahahahhaahhaha what blog are you reading????

So, I did give the sad amount of money that I put in the jar for my week of experimentation to the Ronald McDonald House as I said I would.

But, boy, did I fail miserably.

FUCK!

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