"Releasing my Inner Nonsense"

I love this new take on a sun salutation so much, I need to link to it right here. No, no a bookmark isn't sufficient. I have a gajillion of those. So here. Here it is. Many thanks to Lucky Life (new blogger, holla!) for sharing. Now go get peaceful, ya'll. I am. As soon as I get back from happy hour tonight.

Just kidding.

I'll probably do it before.

Reunited and it feels so.....hmm...

Can I get back to you on that?

Yesterday was the day we met my bio dad, his mom, sister and her husband for the very first time. Like, ever.

This I know: I am in love with two feisty, loving, awesome, sassy, smart, funny Jersey ladies. I mean, in full-on love. These are my girls.

That guy that contributed to my birth. Hmm. I'm really gonna have to get back to you on that.

To say I'm still processing it all isn't really true. It's about as processed as its going to get. But perhaps my opinion will get a bit kinder if I sit on it for a while. Mull it over. Talk it through with some folks. A conversation we had with a friend this morning and what he had to say about our recounting of the day actually did give me more food for thought. Maybe I just need some more food for thought.

I could recount all of the things he did/said that made we wince/cringe/roll my eyes/run to the bathroom and text M. (who was there with me, BTW), but then I look like the dick. "Oh m," you might say, "that's not that bad," you could say. Perhaps not, but the culmination of constant foot-in-mouthness (seriously, your jaw would drop) added to the non-stop not pronouncing my name correctly after repeated corrections multiplied by the doing everything that annoys me (please stop repeating yourself and the same stories, please stop adding emphatic footnotes of familial ties anytime you mention someone's name - "oh and so and so, you know, your mother" - yeah. dude I get it and by the way, please STOP TOUCHING ME) contrasted with the absolute wonderfulness of the rest of the family, JFC, I just couldn't take it.

And sure, I bet he was nervous as HELL. And yes, I have been told I can be a little, um, intimidating. And perhaps I was already ready for a rumble based on some previous phone conversations. But dammit, if this is the day you've waiting for your whole life, could you put on a fucking clean t-shirt and pull the cigarette out of your mouth for a goddamn minute? First impressions? Hello? And oh, someone should probably have given you the memo: don't be needy. I fucking can't stand needy.

But let's get back to the bright side: I learned a lot. Namely, I am my mother's daughter, with perhaps a bit of the women from his family added in for spice and sassy. I learned my mother's name. Saw where she lived. Saw a photo. Which is now mine. Learned that not only do my bio dad and I have nothing physical in common, we are about as far apart cerebrally as two people could get. I am tempted once again to add specific examples here but I won't. There's no need.

I think you get the picture.

So, am I sorry we did this? Fuck. No. See my first paragraphs. I now have some amazing new people in my life. And time to figure out that other one. This was all a lot to take in. A lot. Maybe we just need a little more time.

And shit. Time is one thing I have.

The Day After

I guess you can probably anticipate a bender if you see someone pulling estrogen patches off in the liquor store.

They seriously took me by surprise. Sorry little remnants of this routine we had been dutifully doing for the last two weeks. Same with the alarm on my cell phone that was still set to remind me to take my afternoon pills. What the f....oh, I know what that is. By the time M and I made it to the store, its like we had already erased the possibilities and hopes we had been harboring. Nurturing. Allowing to grow.

Feeling the patches on my belly felt like a slap.

So how do I respond to any perceived insult or injury? Aggressively, of course. Liquor store first. Happy Hour next. One of our BFFs of all time joined us and helped us down huge plates of irish nachos and onion rings (you can't drink on an empty stomach, right? That would be irresponsible!) After another stop or two, we ended the night at the pizza shop - the one that has seen us drunk and speaking spanish, has seen me pregnant, me not pregnant, me post pregnant, me thinking I was pregnant but really not. Honestly, this little hole in the wall has witnessed all phases of our lives. So its good that the pizza is probably the last thing M remembers.

Oh poor M.

He's working all day today. Working through his hangover and with a colleague he absolutely cannot stand. I'm picturing him in his cubicle, earphones on, daring anyone to come near. Working through it. That's all he can do.

Me, I'm trying to figure out how exactly I feel and the best I can come up with is nothing. I feel nothing.

M said something so profound on the way to the RE yesterday. He said the last two weeks have been wonderful. With their shots and inconveniences and various appointments, still wonderful. Like we both remembered what it was like to be happy. To let just a bit of hope into our lives again. That's something we can't forget. That hoping feels good. Even when its not enough to make something happen.

If I let it, the anger, the sorrow, the general pissed off at the world seeps in. But god, that just feels awful and unsustainable. And I know furrowed brows have increased my wrinkle count this year. Shit! I will not be ushered so easily into botox! Must. Not. Furrow!

So, I'm gonna go shower now. Maybe clean up the apartment. Because I can. Heavy lifting and all. And then perhaps, just maybe, I will go for a run. After the headache wears off, of course.

More on Tyra

So funny her name was just mentioned. I just received an alert that someone left a new comment on this old post which kind of summarizes why the tall one had my dander up (pre-ANTM marathon).

Sorry. Someone needs to feel my wraith. Ms. Banks will have to do.

I So Wish

I had fabulous news to share with you today.

But I don't.

Negative.

And I can't really think of anything else to say.

And Another Thing (or Two)

Thoughts on season 10:
Anya is a dead ringer for M's little cousin.
Lauren reminds me completely of Montana from Real World Boston, but skinny.
What's the deal with the silver haired kid? Isn't he a Queer Eye cast off?
Or the sparkly eyebrow dude? Runway Trainer? Trainer? Really? Is this the new code for bitchy wanna be ms. thang? Unbelievable. People get paid for this.
And Paulina? Really? Weren't you in a Cars video? When I was 7? Isn't your advice a little, um, dated?
And back to the "plus sized" girl. Ok, in my heart I want to root for her, but girl, stop. Being a size ten is not a "daily struggle" nor is it a "burden." I want to cheer for her I really, really do, but when I squint she looks just like my best friend from 5th and 6th grade that stole all my "boyfriends" with her big boobs and knowing ways.
So, I can't.
The girl with the least camera time happens to be my favorite. Oh Kasia, why oh why can't anyone say your gorgeous name right?

Sigh.

And still I watch.

I'm Blaming the Drugs

Because there's no other rational explanation.

There seems to be an America's Top Model marathon on today. Hours of it.

And I seem to be watching the whole. damn. thing.

This happened to me once before - but it was the Real World. And I was in college.

Totally different.

I am a damn growned up woman. And this is ANTM (I only know that's an acceptable acronym because it keeps flashing across the screen). And dudes, I HATE Ty.ra. I mean, with a passion. As in, spent numerous blog posts taking her name in vain. I even had a sticker.

And yet here I am.

JFC.

Two weeks is a long, maddening time.

And PS - exactly when did size 10 = "plus size"?

JFC.