letter to an old friend

jenn!

a thousand apologies for not writing sooner. i don't know how to catch up anymore, i guess. twice i've sat down to write you, and frankly, didn't really know where to begin.

it's harder to mark time when there are not obvious milestones around anymore. i remember when bailey was first walking, pulling up to things... then when allie was first able to hold a crayon and make some kind of recognizable symbol. i remember bailey's first day of kindergarten. seems like yesterday and another life all at the same time.



Allie turned five last week:she'll start kindergarten in the fall. she's able to write her name, and speaks like your all-consuming american 13 yr old most days. she's got a quick wit and is her mom in spades, which as i know more than anyone, has it's good points --and BAD. :)

tony left on april 12 2003, so there's a kind of a time marker, i guess. i feel more over my divorce than i ever have, although if you would've asked me a year ago, i would have said the same thing. maybe one day i'll wake up and forget his face. then maybe one day forget his name. HA.. i'm guessing not...

bailey is 9 now, about to finish third grade: yep, that means she'll be in fourth grade next year. you know what that means. buckle the seatbelt, pull the bar down over your knees: here comes boys. and tampons and pimples...and, .. oh my g...boobs.

okay, maybe not all of them in fourth grade, but i do feel like i'm in that dip right before you start to clack, clack, clack up that huge hill on the texas cyclone. .. you just know there's a big drop on the other side of that hill. . that hill is my daughter the teenager. she's just sitting there,like a huge hill i'll be dropped off of...soon.

let's see...what else? i'm not sure how much i told you about the 57 yr old guy i fell hard for last year. honestly jennifer, i don't know that i've ever met a man before that i felt more instantly connected to and so accepted by. it was weird,and cool and so completely un-doable... he's back in singapore these days, and we never talk anymore, but it was just enough to make me really want someone in my life, and also bring to light that i am lonely. i try to look at it as an experience and one that really gave me hope someone is on my horizon--that will really understand me, but also like me....is that possible? hmmmm....

work is... ugh.. it's just a job. i daydream about writing a quirky little novel or doing a snarky-attitude memoir about being a sexy single mom... (HA)... but in the meantime, i quote car insurance and eat food from paper plates at a desk.

all in all, old friend, i am very content and hopeful these days, all of my trademark cynism aside. i created one of those vision boards that oprah goes on about. haven't seen any of the stuff jump off that corkboard and into my life yet, but supposedly you just put the pictures on there and let the universe do the work, so i'm all in on that plan.

i wish we lived closer, so that once in a while when i get that wild rush to jump in the car, i could come visit you... course there are other friends who do live close enough... and i don't ever get that wild rush! are we too busy? or just too lazy? :) depends on the day for me.

with lots of love: past, present and future-

julie

now leaving Fun Country

i am from Fun Country. years of therapy and this is what i come away with: Fun Country.

i move and work out of a 'good times' space. if it feels good, do it. if it's gonna get me tipsy, drink it. if it's chocolate, eat it. if the card works, charge it. whatever the cost, whatever the means; what the fuck, let's have some fun.

you probably lived in Fun Country during college, where you enjoyed all-night drive thrus, resin-stained fingers, hangovers on Wednesday. a stereotypical college kid sucks the juice out of Fun Country and wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve.

after 7 years of skipping class and getting by on bullshit, i got my degree. dad joyfully forced me off the bank account and left me to decide what i want to be when i grew up. nevertheless, my native tongue remained smooth on my lips. and by not deciding what i wanted to be, i decided not to grow up. pay it when the pink bill comes. tonight, get some cash and hit happy hour. up all night, sleep through the snooze alarm. late for work again. dig out clothes from the dryer and wash a fork from the sink. life was catch as catch-can, but dangit, i was having a good time.

my divorce knocked my feet out from under me. but moreover, it was a valid excuse to embrace reckless abandon of all things grown up--and no one would give me shit about it. even in my own mind, i excused my irresponsibility in the name of "you deserve it." i felt a calling to run away from my life, and i heeded the call.

after leaving the marriage debt-free with a nice savings account, a few years in Fun Country left me with overdue credit card bills that grew exponentially with every late payment. my kids weren't babies anymore and had by now figured out that mom went from work to the bar and might come home before they went to bed, but more likely the nanny would tuck them in. and wake them up. and cook for them. i behaved like a spoiled kid... course, i come by that honestly having been raised as a spoiled child by a couple of spoiled parents, but that's fodder for another day. therapy did give me a little more than just insight into my Fun Country citizenship.

i was a 40 year old teenager, with the body of a 52 year old woman. now that ain't fun. but i partied on dude, screw the consequences.

the problem with Fun Country is that it's hard, nary impossible, to move into grown-up land when you refuse to acknowledge anything in life that isn't a good time. and while all night drive thrus are a lot of fun, 2AM french fries and strawberry shakes at midnight don't sit on a 36 year stomach as well as a 25 year old one...and the scale begins to show what heartburn doesn't. more than bumpy thighs and afternoon alka-seltzer, living in Fun Country stunted my growth--in my mind, in my head and in my heart.

my therapist put words to it, but it took another 2 years of wandering for the words to become action. but eventually, this old kid got tired of laughing in the face of reality. instead of making a resolution in the haze of another wednesday morning hangover, i made changes one weekend at a time. starting with reconnecting with my kids. then myself. writing instead of talking. moving instead of sleeping. sleeping instead of drinking.

it's been about a month since i started packing boxes and making my move from Fun Country. i've had to pack away a few friendships, seal up the snooze alarm and close up the late night kitchen full of munchies. slowly, i'm getting some distance between me and my studio apartment in Fun Country. my bills are all current. my kids wait for me in the evenings, and aren't disappointed. cabinet clutter is clearing and my vision board is up and running.

i still see the exit signs for Fun Country in my rearview mirror (let alone the evidence of living there on my waistline), but i'm focused on the windshield, looking forward. and i see an organized little house in my path.

it's cliche: you can't drive a car with three wheels. you can't sit in a chair with a missing leg. you can't ride a unicycle with a pile of bricks on your head... can you? anyhoo... you can't be an effective adult if you're make choices like a child. you gotta have some balance.

for now, i'm not having much fun.

paying bills on time doesn't always leave enough cash for vodka with the boys after work. cleaning the house and keeping two kids organized is a pain in the ass. credit counseling? there is nothing fun about that. coming straight home, waking up early, getting to work and making sure the oil is changed all on time--it takes discipline. i miss Fun Country.

there was no discipline in Fun Country, maybe a bit of endurance, certainly a dash of gusto, but no discipline. But there was also no security, no sense of accomplishment, no self-acknowledgment. no balance. to keep the pendulum in the middle, i have to swing it way far to the right for a while, because it was so stuck on the left. the thrust will pull it back to the middle and maybe, just maybe, if all goes well, i'll have a balanced pendulum in a month or so.

the key to moving out of Fun Country was admitting that i needed to live a disciplined life if i wanted to feel balanced and centered... and grown up. i had to move out of my swingers pad and into a suburban home, fit for a successful single mom and two little darlings... and a nanny. i decided i was ready to leave Fun Country, but no sense in speeding out of there too fast.

i haven't left Fun Country forever. Summertime julie will get a condo for a week in Fun Country while the kids visit their dad in july. i'll swing by from time to time, around the holidays. Fun Country is a great place to visit, but i wouldn't want to live there.

And so it begins... alone again, naturally

I embark now on my fortieth year… oh, I haven’t turned 40 yet, but considering my first year was counted only in months, THIS would be my fortieth year--being those twelve months following my 39th birthday. which was last week. guess your invitation got lost in the mail.

I don’t feel 40.

I see forty as a woman with dark, wavy hair. She wears it long, just passed her shoulders, pulled away from her face to highlight a white streak off the coast of her forehead. She has little wrinkles around her lips and a sandpaper voice like suzanne pleshette. She works as a secretary in an office on the 9th floor and puts a beige plastic cover on her typewriter every day before she leaves. She has a cat named tiki that would leave globs of white fur around her spotless apartment, except that she brushes it every night while she watches CSI and then the first 15 minutes of the news before she snuggles into her queen size bed by herself.

I imagine forty as a boring, unmarried loner who smokes too much and needs a good dye job.

I was reading 7 Habits of Highly Successful People the other night. Stephen Covey used to be all over television in the early 90s. he was an organizational guru with a happy, good-looking family and a book that shot off the best seller list and into the front desk drawer of executives all over the place. I’ve had the book I guess about 14 years or so… can’t tell you if I’ve ever gotten past the first chapter. But that’s irrelevant to the point.. so…onto the point. Right.

In his introduction (I think I’ve read that about 12 times since I bought the book), he talks about perception. First, that perception is personal reality: which I am totally down with. So if perception is (our) reality, if we can learn to adjust our perception to a more positive personal reality, then we can simultaneously, begin to see our world, and the WHOLE world, in a happier, more successful light. He calls it a paradigm shift; and I get it, but paradigm always makes me think of a mail order catalog; so he might as well call it a lillian vernon shift … but I’m veering away again, aren’t i.

Anyhoo, for whatever reason, I perceive 40 as a dull, lack-luster age that doesn’t hold much promise for me as a single girl. Yet, I know that’s not me: first, there’s no way I’d sit through a full episode of CSI unless the cat had fallen asleep on my face and suffocated me. as far as that goes, when I live alone and have a furry cat named tiki, it’s time to check me into the white jacket motel.

So I don’t feel forty; I don’t look forty (what does forty look like to YOU?) and I don’t act like my idea of forty… except for just one little piece of the puzzle: being single.

Seems like, as each year rolls around on itself from start to close, I expect that to be the year I meet … “HIM” … the famed and heralded him.

But this year, not so much. at least not so far.

I’ve had a few hims sniffing around the secretary pool lately. some hung around a while, helped me cover up the typewriter. one or two even offered to brush tiki... but I’m picky about who I let pet my… ...cat. (seriously--you didn’t think I was actually going to go there, did you?)

this year, I’m not expecting, waiting for or even interested in finding Mr. Him. Because as I begin to shift in my perception seat, I am starting to see this world with my own forty-year old eyes and it’s looking pretty dang good from this unicycle. It feels right. It feels natural.

So hold onto your cowboy hats kids, we’re hitting an open field along this trail, and I’m planning on letting my horse run it out. I’ve got a firm grip on my own horn, and I’m ready to blow. happy birthday to the coolest chick I know: me.

work it out baby

i am hopelessly attracted to two men who have shown little more than lukewarm interest in me. Both of these men are VPOP – "virtually perfect on paper" — and (purely coincidentally) both will be out-of-country for at least the next year.

I see this as a sign from God. So I joined a gym.

I figure--I got a year to get hot. Or more correctly: hot – ter.

Now (for those who don't know me) I didn't join Bally's or 23-hour Fitness (remember President's First Lady? My grandma belonged there in '78)…. I've had two children by C-section (if you're a woman you know what I'm talkin' about… I may never wear a bikini again…)… I joined my neighborhood gym: Lifetime Fitness.. it's a ritzy YMCA.

Anyhoo…I've learned a few things from this week at the gym.

1. My body is not as rotund and repulsive as it could be: God bless these people, PUH LEEZ. I just about had to take a Xanex when I thought about putting on workout clothes. I haven't had anything on this tight fitting since Pat Benatar was in the top 20. But I am encouraged by the courage of the people at this gym. There are people at this gym who richard simmons would adopt. I feel within-normal-weight-range here.

2. The Stairmaster is Evil: Have you ever gotten onto one of these things?! ! If you don't repent before your fateful day, I predict you will find yourself handcuffed to a stairmaster for a time dependent on your sin here on earth. The stairs keep coming down, down, down, and you keep climbing. But you get nowhere. By the end of it, you're sweating, your legs are shaky and the thought of a big drink of water makes you want to throw up. --a lot like internet dating, actually--

3. I am a female chauvinist pig: I hate exercise. I love the sauna, but I hate what I have to do to reward myself with it. HOWEVER! I've found a little secret to my torture: there is an elliptical machine strategically located in perfect viewing vacinity of the weight lifting "arena." (Arena meaning 4-walled mirrored area where dudes watch themselves lift dumbbells with scrawny shirts on).I find that if i secure that particular elliptical, I'm able to tread 3 – 4 minutes longer than I do with the dumpy elliptical in front of Fox News (now, get Shep Smith on a pull-up bar, we might be talkin'). It's a stereotype I know, but men in camouflage or full-arm tattoos just work it a little sexier. … sad, but true.

There are other things I've learned while doing my time at the gym: the fountain in the locker room has colder water than the one on the workout floor -- never follow a fat chick into the sauna if she has only one towel -- remember the stall with the dinner-plate showerhead, it makes a difference. And most importantly: don't undress with teenagers around… they will laugh. (another sad but true)

My goal is to shave the fat off this ass and be a woman who men might stalk on myspace. You've seen them: they post pictures of themselves sitting on the edge of a skiboat in a polka-dotta bikini-- they have margaritaville as their song. Bitch-es. Yeah, I want that to be me.

Actually, I'm working out so I can look good at my 20-year high school reunion. How lame is that? Who am I? My mom?! But I've got until mid-october to be 80's era – ish. like a virgin and all that ...

Then again, if just one of those two particular guys gets back next year and goes from lukewarm to tepid … I'm thinking Martha Stewart-style: it's a good thing.

The F Word

When my divorce went down I was hurt. No doubt. I was humiliated, embarrassed, heartbroken. completely broken. Still -- I'd get over it. I mean, it's not like I'd never been hurt before. He wasn't my first boyfriend.
Okay, my first husband. My first…everything. Anyhoo--my heart would mend. It had before.

I'd be fine.

And I was. Life went on. Made my own way.

I did it right: two years of therapy; reunion with God; transitional relationships; self awareness…thumbs up. I carved a niche in my space of the world and I was beautiful in it. STill, it gnawed. Always I was in touch with my chunk of rotting soul meat—anger festering behind tupperware marked 'regret' and 'guilt'.

I had to. clean it out.

For me.

I'm not giving in!

He was not justified.

He was wrong.

I was right!
All of which got me nowhere.

So now, I'll tell you something: The F word.

we push away as from the sides of a pool, to swim in the murk. Anger feels powerful.
The strongest will throw it down. Clinch real freedom. Embrace the power of the F Bomb. The F word you need to know. forgiveness . All of it

I sat in a chair—not a pew—easter Sunday 2006. This little baptist church, who dropped the moniker and fashions itself non-denominational; i liked the smallness of it. The anonymity. the pastor is georgeous. So he was talking about peter, how he denied jesus. He asked us--all 80 or so--"has anyone ever really hurt you? I mean really cut you all the way to the core?" immediately I thought "hell yeah!" not exactly your typical easter Sunday sermon, but gosh, he was so cute: gotee, always cool clothes …. Then God spoke to my bone marrow: "I don't mean YOU. Think deeper."
Ugh.
I didn't want to think deeper….i like to feel sorry for myself. I HAD been cut all the way to the core. Listen to my sad story!"

He was totally wrong, and I was totally right and no one ANYWHERE at any time would dispute it! …yeah…! so …
God again,

"I'm not talking about you! ; think about
how much you hurt.
your spirit is dying from this anger."
That so hit me. Because my spirit rocks.
I had to let the gate up / hear God speak to me: "it's now, honey. It's time." silence from mind to soul. "you have to forgive them, now!" He said so clearly within me that it was my own voice. outside of me; it was me. I just threw down. "okay," was all I could really get out.

But it left me. I felt it go and I actually smiled for him… and her.
Pretty much.

So it was at this little suburban new wave church, I laid down the anger and the horrific realization of his ultimate, earth-catapulting infidelity. And you know what?

Tomorrow was totally cool. The sun came up. In fact, it was sunny and bright and perfect that whole rest of the day. I actually had forgiven my ex husband and his (now) wife for flagrantly disrespecting the vows of my marriage.

I myself have racked up quite a list of … sins… especially lately. We're human. Wow.

I dropped it in that moment. I dropped the dumbbell of resentment that hung from a leathered band around my neck. And by God, I was free.

It's not like walking on air, more taking off a heavy coat you forgot you were wearing. In june.

it's the f-word: forgiveness.

Give yourself a break. They don't care anyway.