I know, I know. It's a total blogger faux pas to write about work on the internet, let alone a personal blog, that if your boss were so inclined to Google you, they'd TOTALLY stumble upon it. It would just hop in their lap and say, "Oh hello good lookin! Ogle at what skills my fingertips have to offer my keyboard in the wee hours of the night."
Good thing this is a lovesome post about my work.
For the most part, I consider myself someone who works for me and mine. Although, the me and mine activities I indulge myself in are far from the bread winning duty (for now), I consider them what makes the working me, well, the working me.
I muck around with remote administrative work for my above and beyond mommy-hood and "me and mine" stuff. It is sort of like having a cocaine addiction to me. I used to be a personal assistant for years after I graduated and there is just something about scheduling every minute detail of a person's life that invigorates my soul. I am insane and have relatively large ears. I hear you snickering and sneering over there in Croatia.
This probably contributes GREATLY to my need to have everything pre-planned. Not to mention the resulting shit storm that happens from a last minute change in said plans. The best part about all of this crippling need to be organized, I love, love, love being spontaneous. What?! How the hell is that even possible?! To be honest, I have not the slightest idea.
It's a side-splitter, I know. Your heart goes above your stomach and large intestine. You good? Okay, let's go on.
I plan every moment, penny, activity, or appointment so that I can be prepared for spontaneity. I, quite literally, sit down at my calendar, writing in "Take advantage of your spontaneous side." I couldn't make this crap up if I tried. Let me tell you, I wish I were trying. Every ounce of this just adds to my crazy.
In a nutshell, I love working. I always make what I'm doing, exciting, new, captivating. Otherwise, what is the point? Why do any of us work, if we refuse to make what we choose to do away from our families, to provide for them, worth our while? I chose to work. I, blessedly, did not HAVE to work after we had Nugget. I will forever be grateful for the research I was able to do to find something that allows me to spend every day with Nugget while building our family a firm nest egg and contributing to that day on the calendar that reads:
Take advantage of your spontaneous side.
Food.
This obsession I have with food is amplified when the tough stuff starts going down. Baking is my stress reliever and eating is my cozy security blanket.
Being in my early twenties, I am lucky enough to still have a mean grasp on my speedy metabolism. When I was pregnant, I skyrocketed up to 170. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POUNDS ladies and gents! Okay, granted I'm 5'10" and was underweight before getting knocked up, this is still a huge number. Ten days of breastfeeding before the unexplained milk drought and I was already down to 155. Score!
I am positive that one day, when I'm thirty, I'll look in the mirror and say, "Oh hey, there fatty! Where did you come from? Wanna be ballsy and go chunky dunking in the community pool later?!"
For the time being, the level of emotional and physical stress I'm wading through is keeping me svelte. My metabolism is on overdrive and I feel like I could eat the world or maybe a cute small child here or there. Or half a batch of this deliciousness which I happen to be devouring as I write this very post.
The most terrible thing in the world happened this morning for an aggrieved woman. The toaster is broken. It's plugged in. Why isn't it working?! Is the toaster completely unaware of the turmoil this household is experiencing?! I NEED MY CHEESE BAGEL WITH WHIPPED CREAM CHEESE!
(Yes an aggrieved woman reacts to a broken toaster in the same manner she might if the world were ending or a terrible rainstorm had lifted her home from its foundation and sent it adrift in the ocean.)
Silver lining: I get to leave the house tonight, Nugget unattached to my leg or fleeting at every opportunity into the recesses of the store, to enjoy Target. All the while, I'll be calmly browsing for new merchandise AND purchasing a new toaster. Mmm...the little things. Like toasters.
Then, when I get home from my childless adventure to Target, I'm making Bear Creek Cheddar Broccoli Soup in Sourdough Bread Bowls. It IS 93 degrees outside, but it is also the second official day of fall. Ere go, I'm making soup for dinner, damnit.
Alright kiddos, we're about to get heavy and dark and gloomy here. Maybe we can try to attribute this hurl into a pit of darkness on the forthcoming holiday. I'm going to boil it down to a character flaw.
I am passive. If you follow me on Twitter, I'm sure you are WELL aware of this. I drop the F-bomb almost religiously. A lot can be said about a chick who drops F-bombs. She's feminine, articulate, and classy.
As of late, there has been a growing self-justification for the use of so many harsh words. I am expressing the innards. What makes up this very pivotal moment in my life. This step (or lack thereof) of the journey is a tall one with sludge and gunk tossing me all over the place the second I decide to try to conquer it again.
Before this past weekend, I would have my moments. Okay, they were meltdowns. The-world-is-crashing-down-around-me-and-we-are-all-going-to-die meltdowns. They involved a lot of yelling and crying, mostly at Husfriend. Bless his heart. Was it inappropriate for me to "take things out on him"? The sad part, not entirely. I write all of this with his knowledge of every, single, solitary statement I make. I've said this all to him. He knows how I feel. He knows what I'm struggling through. THIS. This knowledge he has. It's a first. I have never cracked open the door to my dark, scary place to ANYONE before. Not like this.
If you haven't followed me on Twitter, I have anxiety. BAD. Being a detail oriented, pre-planning freak like me, slight anxiety comes with the territory. In my case, extreme anxiety comes with my territory. One simple thing doesn't go as planned or presumed, one of those meltdowns happens. I strive so hard to make sure everything runs smoothly for everyone in my life, but the second something doesn't go according to plan...
The Apocalypse. No. Seriously.
And that, my friends, right there, the "make sure everything runs smoothly for everyone in my life" part, that's what started dragging me into my dark, scary place.
None of my life, as it is right now, is what I had planned to be taking place right now. Ere go, I feel COMPLETELY out of control. I am in this robotic mode, scrambling to make all the pieces fit together, to conform to this new and foreign land. I've never been good at puzzles. They stress me out. So a puzzle on this grand a scale is like trying to fit a cow in a hen house.
I love Nugget and Husfriend more than the world itself. Love is blind. Maybe I keep running into the same wall I thought I had demolished the last time the world ended. Maybe that's why we keep having the same arguments. Why the same things get under my skin. I thought they were handled, resolved, obsolete. I was wrong.
It all comes down to sacrifice.
Sacrifice.
I hate reading/thinking/saying/hearing that word. I have OVER sacrificed. Simply because my world changed in an instant, doesn't mean I should have given up everything I wanted. Why am I the only one making these HUGE sacrifices? Why am I the one without a core group of friends? Why are the people who were mutual friends now only Husfriend's friends? Why am I "okay" with no plans in motion for marriage? Why do I want to switch places and be daddy instead of mommy? Why are his feet SO heavy? Drag. Drag. Drag. Waiting...
It happened. The sentence every mother fears. Five words that thrust me into this pit of ugliness: "You are a bad mom..."
Ouch.
SUPER OUCH.
To my face the words were spoken. Spoken from a friend of Husfriend. Husfriend, who was just as "guilty" of the situation as I, yet received no sort of reprimand. Ouch.
So I'm coming out of my facade of happy-go-lucky and sticking it to the world that I am NOT happy. When I watch Nugget sleep or we are building block towers and playing dinosaurs. I am happy. Truly happy. Blissful. Other moments succumb to my despair, anger, anxiety, sadness. The sadness is paralyzing. Lots of tear-stained pillows and heavy bags under the eyes around these parts for a while.
We're working through this. WE. As in I am confiding in the man who is anything but an outward expressionistic type of man. WE are working through this. This fight around, he understands more because he knows that he, himself, is part of the reason for my pain.
I can't be the problem-solver, make-it-okay-er this time. I'm the one needing the glue and the steady hand willing to stand there and hold the piece in its place until it has set. Husfriend is my piece (peace) holder. Only a few days have passed since the exploitation of my demons. A few pieces have set. There are a lot more to go.
I will still be actively entertaining myself/my sanity through blogging. I'll do my best to keep things as light as possible. Dark places make for darker subject matter. Don't be too alarmed. Now, however, you know why. You know that I am working through an ugly mess I've allowed to grow into this colossal pile of disgusting trash.
With friends here and there in the world of entertainment, I dabble in the rewards of their ability to have fast-paced careers that include freebies.
Thursday night, my friend Stace of Base had organized a Betsey Johnson runway show at the W in old town Scottsdale. Betsey Johnson equals splurge purchase if ever. I covet her collections. Usually I wear the most extravagant while I'm in my bed, dreaming. Old town Scottsdale (or any area in Scottsdale, really) is NOT for the t-shirt and jeans/sweatpants type like yours truly.
Rosemary and I gussied up and stayed out past our bedtimes to drool over the Betsey Crocker line being exhibited at this fine event.
The people watching was at its prime. There were cougars and trouts scouting for their newest "pal". The Scottsdale Sixteen were there, since they are Scottsdale "royalty" in their own eyes. Since we don't leave the house unless we are VIP or there are gifts involved, (there were BOTH. Double Whammy!) we basked in the rays of being seated in front of the sixteen. Mommies with hookups trump "pretty faces" with hangovers. Pete Wentz, or a confused wannabe, was a photographer hanging out by the man who though he was in Miami with his over sized, white linen leisure suit. Then there were the models...
One model in particular bothered me to the point of nausea. It was a train wreck you can't even watch it's SO bad. I am hoping, for the sake of the success of her career in vanity and bulimia, that she was under the influence of a substance from a foreign land. Luckily they didn't put her in the awesome, to-die-for outfits.
P.S. There were aprons. BETSEY JOHNSON APRONS!
Our inspiration was on overdrive. I'm sitting there, not taking pictures nearly fast enough, on my Crackberry just to look over and see Rosemary snapping as frantically as me from her iPhone (which, on a random side note, I'm considering upgrading to more and more everyday...wallet ouchy).
Don't be surprised to see Betsey knockoffs at Handmade Parade. If I don't make some I'm sure Rose will.
Did I happen to mention there were gifts? Free Betsey Johnson sunglasses. Free. FREE! Did you catch that they were free?!
Despite a couple of close anxiety driven episodes, we survived the night and made our way home the second the show was over, kicking off our heels when we got in the truck and giggling at our cute FREE sunglasses.
It's been eight years since that crazy morning in NYC. The day when tragedy shook our country like nothing my generation had ever experienced. Something I, personally, never fathomed witnessing for the duration of my lifetime or that of my future children or grandchildren.
Perhaps I was naive to have this mentality. The mind set may be attributed to the fact the I was merely a wee sophomore in high school, but is that really an valid mask to live behind? To not have even the slightest inclination that something of this magnitude, this devastatingly crushing could happen a couple thousand miles away, was it blissful ignorance or a lack of information? I won't go delving into my preventive political viewpoints, not today at least.
It was a day just like any other, except for some strange reason my big sister, Sandi, and I didn't listen to the radio that morning on our way into school. We were religious about our morning radio shows. Today was different. For some strange reason it was different. Looking back, I probably would NOT have wanted to go to school (which was a rather conservative, Republican high school. Public, but conservative) for fear I'd miss out on developments in the cause, the counts, the efforts. As I walked into my Algebra classroom, the TV was on, the students were quiet and my teacher was sobbing. The image on the screen will remain burned in my mind for as long as I live. That tower, crumbling like a sand castle to the ground. Straight to the ground. My heart stopped.
Here comes the second plane. It's gut-wrenching and completely true that a comparable number of tears have been shed in the publishing of this very post as were had on that one morning, eight years ago today.
Take time to cherish your loved ones more today than you already do every other day. Be sappy and reverent and hopeful and grateful. With each year we get stronger and the wiser for having endured the ongoing adversities of the world.
Don't ever forget.
I'm a dreamer.
I dream about a lot of things. Like getting married and having babies and 4 bedrooms and a king sized bed and that yellow, tweed loveseat in the window of that shop I've never been inside.
I dream because it motivates me. I'm the type of person who is at peak functionality when there's an Oh Shit! deadline in my sights. If there's no dream, no plan for making it come true, an eternity (or three) lies between that dream and its reality.
Dream your dreams and make them come true. Everything, EVERYTHING, is possible. Cliche or not, if there's a will there's a way. Nothing can ever hold you back from discovering your destiny, postponement perhaps, but making it come to pass will never be impossible. I feel like Walt Disney. Walt's Wonderful World of Wise Words. W's.
The power just went out, unexpectedly, with the onslaught of an unadvertised wind & rainstorm. Could this be mother nature's way of telling me, "Screw you, with your optimism and promotion of dreaming you insane woman!" Maybe, but I've had a rough day, I'll make you the victim of my cutting. Just kidding. God's pee or tears or whatever that is falling from the clouds is TOTALLY loved by us Arizonans. Smooches, Ho.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Dreams. Make it happen. Nike: Just Do It. Whatever motivational PR jargin that gets your gears turning, succumb to them. You'll feel much better for having challenged yourself to make something happen that you've been drooling over for however long it is you've been drooling. I see the pool from the overflow of your strategically placed salivary catch-all cup. It's kind of gross. And a little medically concerning. You should go see a doctor.
Whether it's a European vacation you've staked claim to "die for" or that cute yellow, tweed loveseat in the shop window on 11th st and Camelback that will match perfectly with your new gray sofa and armchair and navy/yellow/gray living room redesign, it's ready and waiting for you to make the move.
Get jiggy with it. Na na na na na na na. Na na na na na na.
Anxiety. That alone is the fuel behind my best and worst work. My creative juices flow the fastest when I'm having one of my high anxiety episodes. It's like a reality TV show everyone can't stand for being SO ridiculous (you know like The Hills or Jon & Kate), but no one can pull themselves away from the drama. A train wreck or an unexpected twist in the plot keeps us all on pins and needles. The difference between prime time television and my own freak show boils down to the tabloids. I have yet to spot my mug on the cover of The National Enquirer for cheating on Husfriend with someone 10 years my younger or marrying my back-up dancer. Disturbing because it'd be a thirteen year old boy. Gross.
Back to the anxiety. I convince myself (remember I self diagnose) that I'm extremely bi-polar. One second I'll be up at the peak of Mt. Everest and the next I'm throwing back shots of Jack Daniels with Satan himself. Who am I?! Really, I find myself questioning that ALL the time.
Who am I?
I used to be so convinced of who I was, what I believed, where I was going, what I would one day accomplish. With every passing day, I become less and less confident. I used to be the funny girl whose friends were the hot ticket. I was just one of the guys. I'm still just one of the guys, but now the most important guys think that's cool and they LOVE me for it. I suppose I can handle that. I used to be so sure of my destiny. Those dreams are still highly attainable, however, my motivation to achieve them are dwindling slowly. Perhaps that's what makes it so tough. I used to know where I belonged and who I'd fit in with most. These days, I find myself pleasantly shocked at who has similar interests.
The kicker: The confidence in my past-life made me SUPER outgoing. I could talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. Now, I'm a little bit of an introvert. I see your teeth typing illegible letter combinations as your jaw scrapes along the keyboard. (For those who know me personally, I'm all but ready for the phone calls.) With my newfangled anxiety, it's 100% hit or miss which "personality" you'll get when we meet again. There are moments I wish I could forever live within these four walls and in cyberspace land. I feel WAY more comfortable in front of a computer screen or my Crackberry. It's saddening. Depressing even.
Occasionally, my blog bears the brunt of my "off days". If you get offended by anything I ever write, comment. Be enraged. Say nasty words like "You aren't who I **expletive most likely to be omitted** thought you were." In the coming days, weeks, months, forever, whatever, as I work on discovering myself once again, there will be posts divulging the mistakes, the upsets, the painful twists of the knife. There is one thing I'm most confident about right here, right now, it is that many of you will be deeply, nay, sorely offended. I may lose "friends" over things I say. Grudges may be formed, eyes will roll, but by golly it seems this is my platform for REAL self-expression. I can be and explain me, Jessi Sanfilippo, the REAL me, here, on this blog, better than the millionth time you've seen or spoken to me.
Strap on the safety belt kiddos, it's going to be a BUMPY ride.
I've been feeling really inspired lately. In my daily stalking of this blog among many others, I can't help but be more and more motivated to transition my house from the dark/neutral pallet to the light/airy/modern pallet. I've already transformed my dining room and have a complete vision for the living room.
I tried my hand at being artsy. I printed this creation off:
It's found a home at the top of our entry stairs:
It only took 18 months but I can officially claim to have been THAT mom.
You know THAT mom whose toddler is screaming like a pack of rabid hyenas are tearing his body apart limb by limb in a public place. In a public place where their choice of in-store tunes includes the likes of Michael Bolton and Sade.
I have forever (the past 18 months) been convinced I could take Spawn Nugget anywhere and everywhere and not be THAT mom.
Well, THAT moms of the world, I now understand why you are so disheveled. Why leave your full shopping cart in the middle of the store. Why I see you rush frantically out the exit door, and speed from the parking lot in hopes no one you know witnessed the meltdown your toddler just had because you refused to fork out hundreds of unnecessary dollars to purchase all the broken fine china he managed to get his hands on.
Fingers crossed and eyes squeezed tight in wishes that he was just having an "off" day.
Please just be having an off day.
Last weekend, we took a spontaneous trip up to Sedona, AZ. A friend of ours works for an amazing tea company* and had to deliver product for a music festival. He invited our little fam to come along for the trip. Free trip. Yes, please.
There was this fantastic brewery we dined at for lunch. I had a Reuben that left my taste buds with more to desire, so I fastidiously moved onto my grease drenched onion rings. My tummy never felt better and worse all in one digestive moment. The best part about lunch, it was across the street from the UFO museum and gift shop.
After lunch we walked around for a little while at took a gander at some of the shops. There was a toy shop. I splurged on toys for Spawn Nugget. I bought him a Melissa & Doug puzzle of a train that makes a train sound when you complete it, a puzzle of numbers and letters, and I even got Husfriend a package of self-adhesive mustaches for any occasion. They inspire me to have a Henry Weinhard's/Whiskey Mustache themed party. I'm going to do it.
Then we were off to a vortex. As Husfriend so profoundly explained it to the non-believers in the car, "It's a place with lots of natural energy." When you go to a natural vortex, it's a place where your soul can be cleansed and purified. A great place for meditation. If you're NOT like me and choose to wear the appropriate footwear, are unafraid of climbing/falling to your death down a mountain, and leave your damn purse in the car. When I reached the area of energy, last of everyone mind you, I could barely stand still it was so windy up there. I have a feeling we all would have been more open to receiving the "cleansing" sensation if we hadn't been making innapropriate jokes and re-enacting the opening scene from Disney's The Lion King. It's the Circle of Life. I slipped on the way down and my anxiety peaked for the first time that whole day.
Blah, blah, blah fudge shop, ice cream, complete strangers vocally judging that I'm indeed not married, but have a baby, friendship walk at the Jewish center, driving home, traffic, sandwiches, sleep.
I also added a slideshow to the website for your enjoyment.
*Keep your eyes glued for a giveaway for Honest Tea, Honest Kids Juice.
I've been plugging away at the website, and trying REALLY hard to master all of this SEO stuff. If you're thinking about taking it on for yourself, be warned that it requires attention, attention, attention. It's going to be worth it in the end. I keep having to pep talk myself, but it's going to be worth it in the end.
I've made the physical transition to "Halloween" style for the site. Think puke green, orange, and black. You'll be disgusted and most likely point and laugh, but that's my interpretation of international dress-like-a-skank day.
Check it out for yourself.
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