Moments like that.

Today was one of those days where I sat down at one point and the house was completely quiet. Cassidy had left to spend the night at her OMGBFF’s house, Ben was still at work, the dogs were sleeping blissfully at my feet, bellies full and properly rubbed and Samus was curled up on my lap, a warm little ball of cute and it was just… perfect.

10 minutes before that I was on the phone yelling and fighting for something I believe in so strongly it causes PHYSICAL pain. Actual. Physical. Pain.

Right then, in the middle of my zen calm, the phone rang and after the conversion I’d just had, I dreaded even looking to see who it was but that Mommy Sense kicks in when your kid is away from home and you HAVE to check the phone because no matter how old they get, when they are away and the phone rings there’s always that 1/4 of a second that you say a silent prayer they are okay. So I do, and it’s Ben and I silently thank the Universe that my daughter is still okay and answer the phone:

Ben: So you want to go see Green Lantern tonight? There’s an 8:15 show and we can do dinner first as long as we leave when I get home.
Me: I was actually going to ask if you wanted to see that tonight but I didn’t want to push too much with your back hurting.
Ben: Let’s go! I’m good!
Me: Okay! I’ll change!
Ben: OKAY!

And you guys, I got off the phone and for a few minutes the world was perfect. Cassidy was off doing whatever it is tween girls do on sleepovers. She’s spending the night with my Dream Friend for her. Her friend Alexis is exactly what I’d pick if I could have picked her friend FOR HER. She’s sweet, polite and quite mostly but every once in awhile she will crack up with this hearty belly laugh that is infectious. She is a good secret keeper. And her parents are nice and smile a lot and participate!

And Ben. Ben’s back is hurt so sitting for a long time hurts him and I know that he WANTED to see Green Lantern but he also knew that I needed to not sit on the couch and Be Sad and Be Worried tonight and he suggest this movie as much to help me as he did for himself and… I just love him so much. I know that I’ve said this before but, you guys, this man. This man is amazing. And selfless. And patient. And I’m so lucky to have him.


And the moment was over. But it’s moments like that, those moments, they’ve kept me sane the last week or so.

I have a really long, probably ugly, war in front of me but as long as I can grab onto these moments between battles, remember what I’m fighting for, I will succeed.

I really need to stop jinxing myself.

For almost six years we didn’t have a dress code at work. I loved it. LOVED. IT. I wore jeans and tshirts and Chucks to work most days and I was comfortable, still presentable, and PRODUCTIVE.

Then, about three months ago we got a new CEO who decide that we needed to start dressing “business casual”. And I cried. A lot.

And complained. A! LOT!

So this dress code officially went into effect on June 1st. Until then we were supposed to “practice” the dress code. I never did. I wore jeans all the way up till May 31st because I’m a rebel. And I REALLY LIKE MY JEANS!


So June 1st I got up at 4:15AM and started getting ready. Just as I was about to get dressed in my TOTALLY NOT AWESOME business casual clothes I checked my email and my bi-monthly Photojojo time capsule email had this image which I’d posted to flickr the year before.

In which I learn to knock on wood a bit more often.

I wanted to punch Past Me in the face. HARD. REPEATEDLY.

Because this is what I wore to work that day.

What I have to wear one year later.

And I am angry.

I get annoyed when absent bloggers apologize for not having written in awhile. Like they OWE you an explanation. Dude, you have a life, live it and don’t feel like you need to explain it to ANYBODY.

But I’ve totally done it before.

Because I’m all about the hypocrisy.

So here we go.

I haven’t written because I CAN’T. When I sit to write it’s because something funny has struck me and I feel like EVERYBODY NEEDS TO KNOW THIS RIGHT NOW. I’m not an every-day-I-need-to-tell-you-all-the-mundane-shit-I-did type of blogger. Which is odd because I am an every-day-I-need-to-tell-you-all-the-mundane-shit-I-did blog READER. I need to know that your cat threw up today after you fed it real tuna because I am voyeuristic and… well, nosy.

I listen to conversations in restaurants ALL THE TIME. I can’t help it, you people talk LOUDLY about SHIT THAT SHOULD NOT BE SAID IN A RESTAURANT. I’ll turn to Ben like, “Did you just hear what that lady said!?” And he’s like, “Dude, stop being crazy.” Seriously though, if you don’t want the entire restaurant to realize you’re there with your lover and not your husband, LEARN TO WHISPER.

So anyway, when I sit down to write it has to be something I feel like I NEED to say and when I CAN’T say what I NEED to say you get halfass attempts like that last blog post. It actually hurts my brain to read it. I can’t believe that some of you got through it and then COMMENTED. YOU PEOPLE ARE SAINTS.


And then when Ben starts to notice and because he knows me so well he doesn’t say “So I noticed you haven’t blogged lately.” He says, “What are you not saying that you need to say that’s causing you not to blog?” DAMN THAT MAN AND HIS KNOWING ME SO WELL.

This question inevitably leads me to verbal diarrhea that lasts for 20 minutes. I take a deep breath to start and then it all flows out in one really long, never ending sentence and as it’s happening I can feel the tension and the stress and the fuzzy feeling pouring out of me and afterwards I want to light a cigarette and ask him if it was as good for him as it was for me.

It’s never as good for him as it is for me.

So here it goes, the reason I haven’t been able to blog. The reason that every time I sit to write it turns into a 4000 word long rant and most of them are a variation of the work ‘fuck’.



I am so angry at Cassidy’s father for abandoning her just when she’s getting to that point in her life when she NEEDS strong male influences.

I am SO ANGRY that I dropped her off on a Friday in February and pulled her dad aside and explained to him that she’s having some abandonment issues (some deaths in the family affected her more than she even now realizes) and that he NEEDS to be PRESENT in her life right now. She is in counseling and she NEEDS to know that she has her family around to support her and for whatever reason YOUR presence in her life is SO important to her and she REALLY NEEDS you to be there right now.

And then he drove off, put her to bed that night and LEFT. HE LEFT HER THERE. For a week. He chose THAT DAY to break up with his girlfriend of NINE YEARS who Cassidy LOVES AND ADORES and LEFT HER THERE for Mary to pick up the pieces and deal with it.

I am ANGRY that her (now ex) step-mom finally had to explain what was going on TWO DAYS AFTER HE NEVER CAME HOME and her first response was, “I’m never going to get to see you again, am I?” You guys, just writing that sentence literally causes a surge of adrenaline to pump into my heart, I am SO ANGRY.

I am ANGRY that against my better judgment, I let her go down there a few weeks later and he LIED TO ME telling me that she had her own room in a HOME to sleep in and instead, he was living at his automotive shop and left her alone in the dark on a couch and when she woke up THERE WAS A STRANGE MAN IN THE ROOM asleep on the other couch. And she was SCARED and had to PRETEND to be asleep, SCARED. ALONE. WITH A STRANGE MAN.

I am SO ANGRY at him for deciding to leave his beautiful, caring, loving girlfriend that my daughter thought of as her second mother to date a FUCKING PROSTITUTE.

And no, I don’t mean like I’m catty and calling some girl a whore because she looked at my boyfriend the wrong way. I mean, the girl he is dating is an ACTUAL prostitute with online ads like (following links are NSFW) this and this and this.

I am ANGRY that all I had to do to find these sites was google his prostitute girlfriend’s phone number.

I am ANGRY that I now have a file on my computer full of images like this so that when we eventually have to go back to court I’ll have them handy.

I am ANGRY that my daughter can easily find these pictures online. That THIS is the girl he’s chosen to bring around my daughter and sees absolutely NOTHING wrong with what she did/does and thinks that she’s a perfectly acceptable role model!

I am ANGRY that he hasn’t bothered to contact her in TWO MONTHS (except the one time that SHE called HIM) because apparently he’s too busy with his prostitute. And that every time she calls and leaves him a voicemail message she knows will never get returned, I have to watch the sadness she tries to hide in her big beautiful blue eyes.

I AM SO ANGRY that I had to explain to my TWELVE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER what a prostitute is because that was the only way to explain to her why “Roxy” is NOT an okay person to be around.

I AM ANGRY that my daughter is hurting. She’s struggling. She’s depressed and sad and putting on a really good show but she’s hurting. She’s lying about SILLY stuff and befriending girls that push her around and she doesn’t even realize that the reasons she’s doing this is because she’s in pain. She hurts and she doesn’t even realize it. And Ben and I are trying REALLY HARD to help her understand but, of course, we’re the ‘bad guys’. We’re the rule makers, the enforcers, the ones that have to pick up all the little pieces that HER FATHER has broken off of her and slowly piece her back together. We glue two on, he knocks three off.

I am SO ANGRY how unfair it is that she has to go through this. That I have to go through this. That Ben has to go through this.

I get angry when people tell me “Well, one day she’ll get it. She’ll see what kind of person he really is.” Like that’s supposed to be some kind of comforting thought. Like the fact that one day she’s going to wake up and realize that it’s not that he doesn’t care NOW, it’s that your dad NEVER CARED about you. How the fuck is that supposed to make me feel better? I just smile and nod and try to breathe past the knot that forms in my throat and fight back the tears that my broken heart sends welling up to my eyes.

Mostly, I am angry that I don’t know how to fix this. There is no book to read, no website to look at, no person that can sit you down and give you all the answers. I have no control over this, over him, over what it’s doing to her.

I have no answers.

And I am angry.