The one where I FINALLY catch a damn break

The one where I FINALLY catch a damn break

My 18-year-old, know it all man-child has been driving me up a freaking wall lately. By lately, I mean, reasonably for the last 4 years at least. You know the drill, I don’t know anything, I’m the meanest mom in the entire world, and my personal favorite,  you abuse me (The reasons for this are INSANE….for instance, I don’t buy white bread. Who knew that was child abuse?!).

On a daily basis, I think to myself, at least once, any of the following things, if not all of them:

  • Why do you keep coming home?
  • Just move the hell out.
  • Get a f*cking job!!
  • Buy your own damn white bread.
  • Cut that God awful mullet off.
  • Stop talking like an uneducated effing hick. IT’S NOT F*CKING COOL!!
  • Try drinking some water for once. I’m not buying a damn gallon of milk every single day.

It’s honestly got to the point that any time he’s actually nice, the only thing I can think of is “What the hell do you want?!” Every occasional “I love you mom” triggers an instant “What the f did you do?” And every single time someone says “You’ll miss this some day,” or “There are plenty of people praying for what you have,” it takes every fiber of my being to not punch them in their stupid throat. NOBODY misses this shit. I’ve literally never met a single person that said “My kid was SUCH an asshole. I miss that so much.”

Last week, through a series of events that I’m not privy to, my boss and a friend of mine managed to come up with a job for my kid. I don’t know what kind of strings were pulled, but this is a damn good chance for a kid who dropped out of high school and has really just been a damn drain on society for the past 18 months. Seriously, it’s a miracle, and there is no possible way to sufficiently thank either of the 2 men who made it happen. Even more so, his new boss managed to get him to cut that ridiculous mullet off. For that, I owe him my undying gratitude, because seriously, that mullet was disgusting, and though I can’t post a picture of the new and improved look, because he’d probably kill me if he saw it on the blog….or knew the blog even existed…I can drop an Instagram link, and you can see it for yourself. This kid FINALLY looks presentable again! Hallelujah!

He has a job (let’s hope he manages to KEEP it), the mullet is gone, AND, my friend that is employing him won’t let him take smoke breaks, so if the new boss has his way, within 3 months, he can kiss that stupid ass habit goodbye as well. Even better, he can buy his own stupid white bread, and finally start paying back the unending pile of money he owes me. Thanks to my people, the 2 of us may be able to tolerate each other, and I may not need to end every day with a xanax or a glass of wine just so he can continue existing on this side of the ground and I can stay out of maximum security housing.

 

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I’ll take things I won’t do for $1000 please Alex.

I’ll take things I won’t do for $1000 please Alex.

Last week, I was asked to DJ a wedding. It took me approximately 2.5 seconds to turn that down flat. It’s not that I couldn’t do it. It’s not that I thought I wouldn’t be good at it, because I’d kill it. It’s not even that I couldn’t use the extra cash. I turned it down, because truthfully, I hate weddings, and I don’t want to HAVE to be at one, much less be responsible for whether or not other people enjoy the wedding.

I should clarify. I don’t hate love. I don’t hate people who are in love. I don’t think other people shouldn’t have weddings. They’re simply not my cup of tea.

I’ve often responded to the question “When are you going to settle down and get married” with “Sometime between now and when Hell freezes over.” That’s always met with a look of concern, and usually a comment about how some day I’ll feel differently. Honestly, there’s nothing to feel differently about. It’s not that I don’t want to be at that point in my life where I’m financially stable and have someone to sleep next to at night. It’s simply that I think it may take Hell freezing over to find someone who wants to sign up for that, because I’m a whole lot of issues for one person to have to deal with.

When I turned down the wedding DJ gig, I told the friend who asked me to do it “On the off-chance Hell freezes over, I don’t want to even go to my own wedding!” Why? Well, mostly because I’m old, and unlike the Shania Twain song, I don’t want to have to pay for the white dress, the guests, the cake, the car, the whole darn thing. I’d prefer to do like one of my friends recently did, get married and tell people a week after the fact so you don’t have to pretend you’re comfortable being the center of attention at a ridiculously expensive party that nobody really wants to be at. But also, because being an old school romantic in a hook up culture is a special kind of hell, and I don’t think that’s freezing over any time in the foreseeable future.

On how I realized I’ve had a MAJOR shift in priorities

On how I realized I’ve had a MAJOR shift in priorities

You may want to sit down for this revelation. I still write paper checks. Specifically, there are 2 bills I will only pay in person, with paper checks. It’s not that I don’t trust the internet, or I don’t like the convenience of automatic bill pay. It’s simply because my insurance agents are some of the coolest people I know, and I like to go chat with them while paying my bill, once for my car, and a week later for my home. Yeah, I know I could write them both in one check and only make one trip, but that’s not happening. Like I said, they’re crazy cool people, and I love a reason to shoot the breeze with them.

Today, while making a stop to pay the bill, I was talking to my agent/friend about all of the places we love in Salt Lake. That of course led to what we used to like, versus what we prefer to do now. For instance, a trip to the city once meant “Yes! We can go to the mall, Old Navy, and Olive Garden (or Chili’s, or whatever other chain restaurant is the hot item right now)!” Now we know better, and a trip to the city now means “What random restaurant from Yelp should we try this time?” It also means finding the lesser known, hole in the wall places to shop, because those are truly the best. We chatted for a while and realized that the majority of our favorite places are the same, and walked away with a few new ones to try thanks to recommendations from each other.

How did this topic even come up? That’d be because I was telling him about my most recent trip and about the condo I had found in the PERFECT area. Then we moved on to the ideal window of where to live in the good old 801, which would be nothing West of State or below 33rd, though even more ideally, it wouldn’t be below 21st. Why? Because the vast majority of  the best Salt Lake City urban life has to offer is in that area.

I didn’t realize just how much my thoughts on this had shifted over the years though, until I ventured outside of that area this past weekend. I needed to meet a friend for coffee. I hadn’t seen this friend in MONTHS and well, it was long overdue, so I headed to an area WAY South, and much further West than I like….almost to Utah County, which is no fun at all. When adults will spend time with you instead of catching up on some sleep though, you appreciate that sacrifice, and do what it takes to meet up with them, even if that means being on the border of Utah County. 😉 Honestly, it’s a beautiful area of the Salt Lake Valley, and about half of a decade ago the only thoughts I would have had would be:

  • It’s a beautiful area
  • The homes are gorgeous
  • There are so many neighbors for kids to play with
  • This looks safe!
  • There’s a Wal-Mart, a grocery store, a Starbucks, and a couple of restaurants close by.
  • I can get to a mall in 20 minutes
  • I don’t mind the commute, because it means I don’t have to deal with the city

This weekend though, those thoughts were:

  • Ugh..this is so residential!
  • This is a $30-40 one way Uber or Lyft ride to anywhere good
  • WHY are there only chain restaurants around here?!
  • Why does Utah County have to be SO close?
  • Why does it take 10 minutes to get to the freeway? (This particular thought is COMPLETELY irrelevant, since I actually live 2 hours away from the nearest freeway.)

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a beautiful area, and the people I know who live there are amazing, but I much prefer to have little pockets of residential areas tucked away in the Urban landscape, where all of the people are, and all of the fun things are happening, and it’s all within walking distance, or a $10 Uber ride away. Give me an urban area over the Stepford Wives neighborhood I used to see as the ideal any day!

Y’all, white trash parties are the greatest!

Y’all, white trash parties are the greatest!

white trash

I was killing some time (and money) Friday night at the local TJ Maxx, because it’s better than the alternative, chilling at home by myself. Ok…not really chilling, because it’s hot as balls in my house, but whatev. I tried on a gorgeous LBD from Michael Kors, but couldn’t really decide if I should buy it, or maybe I had already decided I was going to buy it despite there not ever being an occasion in which to wear this dress in town ever and just needed other people to tell me it looked amazing. At any rate, I snapped a horrible dressing room selfie, and waited for the positive affirmation. I was not disappointed.

Within minutes, I got the snapchat replies that solidified my decision to buy the dress. Then I got the text from one of my very best friends, and my most trusted fashion advisor. It simply read “I’d tap that.” So that’s a solid yes to the dress… After that, the conversation led to “I’m going to a white trash party tomorrow night. Get out here. You can stay with me,” and that’s when the fun started.

I haven’t been out of town in nearly 2 months, and that is a looooong time for me to go without leaving this tiny fishbowl of an area I live in. I could not wait to leave the next morning. In pre-gaming for the white trash party, we headed to the sketchy part of the Salt Lake Valley, yeah, I’m talking West Valley. We can’t help it. They have the good phô, and the NPS Store, and if you go during the daylight, you don’t have to worry quite so much.

Shopping for attire for the party was easy. It was almost too easy. Like, we wondered if the other people going to the party found it as easy as we did. Seriously, we had an entire cart filled with stuff that we finally had to narrow down, because one simply does not need 6 different white trash outfits for one party, even if they were less than $10 each.

Getting ready for the party was ALMOST more fun than the actual party. We had the trashy tank tops, mesh basketball shorts, camo swim trunks, and matching visors with the word “ramrod” embroidered in them. Throwing together the outfit was fun, but the makeup…even better. From the completely wrong shade of foundation to the smeared, too bright lipstick, WAY overdone eyebrows, and eyeshadow reminiscent of Mimi from the Drew Carey Show. I used so much lip stain that the outline is STILL visible on my lips 36 hours later. Really, I can’t get that crap off. Fortunately it’s faded significantly and I think I might be the only one that notices it now. The piece de resistance though: the blush sunburn we created on my friend. You know when you get a sunburn while wearing one shirt, and then it looks ridiculous when you wear a different one? Imagine that v neck t-shirt sunburn with a scoop neck tank top. It was so realistic people thought it was a real burn, and from what I hear, washing it off the next morning made it look like the red wedding from Game of Thrones.

Had the party been a costume contest, we totally would have won, but we had some pretty stiff competition with the girl who made a sports bra tank top out of a pair of men’s underwear, our friend who literally turned a white kitchen garbage bag in to a dress, and then of course the fake pregnant girl with a beer bong around her neck and the Donald Trump shirt reading “America, F*ck Yeah.”

The sangria and moscato we brought to this shindig were immediately deemed too fancy to be in sight, so we stashed them in the fridge for the birthday girl to enjoy later and mingled and played some corn hole instead with our drinks we’d brought in giant convenience store cups. Fortunately when it was time to call it a night, we got a Lyft driver with a sense of humor, because the white trash vibe just continued to get trashier as the night went on. Although we did clarify that we were at a costume party, so hopefully he believed that instead of thinking “Yeah, I’d say that too if I were dressed like this…”

Once safely home, instead of actually going inside, we decided we needed to go swing at the park instead. It was a fantastic idea, swinging in the park at night when it’s not blazing hot outside. It was so relaxing in fact, that we forgot that particular park becomes “home” to the homeless at night, and given the way we were dressed, they weren’t too fond of these 2 new girls infringing on their space. After they started coughing loudly…and repeatedly, basically telling us “Get the hell out of here,” we decided perhaps we should call it a night, and retired to the cottage, where we attempted to remove all traces of the redneck makeup, then gave up, ate BBQ Lays and went to bed.

Theme parties are great when you’re a kid. When you just need to escape from reality and the every day mundane, theme parties are even better as an adult, and the White Trash Bash is seriously where it’s at.

261 Days

261 Days

261 Days

That’s how long it’s been since the last time I cried.

There have been a whole slew of things that probably should have resulted in tears.

  • Multiple occasions of my kid being the biggest asshole on the face of the Earth.
  • Dropped a 35 pound kettle bell on my foot
  • Every single episode of This Is Us
  • Several broken things in my house thanks to the asshole kid
  • Have you ever been called a bitch on your damn birthday because you won’t buy yet another vehicle for someone?
  • How about Mother’s day? That’s a great day to go completely unrecognized, and have the kid be in giant ass mode. Made it through that unscathed.
  • The freaking awesome guy I was kinda seeing started dating someone else exclusively. I definitely probably should have cried over that. Several other people did thanks to this post. 
  • “Thanks for the Christmas presents mom. Can I have the receipts so I can just get the money tomorrow. I’m going to my friend’s house now.”
  • Realizing that my $7000 in network health insurance deductible means another year of putting off some not really necessary, but not exactly optional either medical decisions.
  • Not having one single day off in 8 weeks
  • Finding the PERFECT house but not being able to even think about buying it because a 3 hour commute is just a tad much
  • Not sitting on bleachers sweating my ass off with the rest of the parents of the graduating class of 2017 because my kid dropped out of school

I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. For 261 days, probably a record for someone who was born with 2 X chromosomes, I’ve been apparently completely dead inside. Well that ALL changed today.

It all changed because as I can see the light at the end of the 8 weeks without a day off tunnel, today I was “treated” to 2 hours of the meanest and most hateful things that have EVER been said to me. Two. Solid. Mf’n. Hours. I know better than to even think that I can defend myself in moments like this. That only fuels the spite. I sat there, and tried to keep it together until I couldn’t take it anymore. When a response was finally expected from me, I opened my mouth, and got about 2 words out before the shaky voice and tears took over. And once the tears took over, there were more tears, because I was so frustrated at myself for NOT being able to keep it together. I did the only thing I could do. I sat at my desk and composed myself enough to leave my office, and as I walked out the door, I answered the question “Are you ok” with the biggest lie a woman ever tells: “I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. I’m not even close to it. But I fixed that stupid crying girl with 1/2 of a xanax and 4 ounces of wine. I know, I know…you can’t mix that shit…I don’t care. It’s half of the very lowest dose, and not enough wine to do anything.

Congratulations, you broke me. Not many people can say that. Usually I’m the one breaking myself. I should buy you a trophy. I hope it was memorable, because I know without a doubt where I stand now, and this is not going to happen again. All of those things you said just went in to a bigger, stronger wall, and the next 261 days are going to be a breeze.

On why I can’t even…

On why I can’t even…

I’ve been told I’m too picky when it comes to communicating with boys. That I shouldn’t hold it against someone when they use the word your when they should be using you’re. That I shouldn’t NOT talk to a guy because the way he texts drives me absolutely insane. That this is the way people communicate, and I should get over it. I can’t do it. I just can’t.

I can’t ignore it, because I’m a fairly intelligent adult, and I simply can’t stand the thought of being around someone who is just so stupid. Why does “Hey, I think your awesome” drive me so absolutely fwording insane? Well, because the distance is so small from that to this message I received today, and there will NEVER be a time when I find this the least bit attractive.

“hey gurl i seen your still single and i waz wndrng if ur dwn 2 hang sometime hmu if u wanna grab a drank smetime or sumthin”

Hand to God, that message hit my inbox not even 20 minutes ago from an actual person, with several friends in common with me. I don’t even care if he’s Bradley Cooper hot (he’s not), or straight Anderson Cooper, I’m not willingly spending time with someone who can’t communicate like a grown up. Even worse, take in to consideration that thanks to autocorrect, typing words like that takes more actual effort than just letting your phone do its thing and spell them correctly.

“Have you ever considered that you’re just too picky?”

No. No, I haven’t considered that, because I’m not too picky. I don’t want anything to do with someone that’s going to ever talk to me like that message I received today. I can ignore the occasional your/you’re mishap, but I totally judge you if you consistently use them incorrectly. I’ll judge you because I think it’s a small step from that to using words like bae, and if you say “bae” to me, I’m assuming you’re talking about bacon and eggs, because I’m not 12 and that word is dumb.

Backhanded compliments and other misogynistic crap

Backhanded compliments and other misogynistic crap

I get my share of backhanded compliments from well-meaning people who either don’t know any better, or just want to assert their perceived superiority. I don’t have anything against guys in general. As a matter of fact, I like them quite a lot, but 90% of the time I deal with this crap, it comes from someone of the male persuasion. That 10% that is probably from people who don’t know any better doesn’t often even register..but the rest of the misogynistic garbage makes me wonder if there was some kind of intergalactic idiot convention who’s attendees got lost on the way and invaded the bodies of people on Earth.

It’s no secret that I hate my house. I despise it. I’ve wanted out from underneath this money pit for the last 14 years. It’s not going to happen, because as much as I can’t stand it, it’s worth the land it sits on, and that is not enough to get me out of debt and in to something else. That doesn’t stop me from looking at other houses and dreaming every once in a while though.

A few months ago, that dreaming led me to the PERFECT condo in Salt Lake. Yeah, I know, I’m employed and own a house shaped stack of debt 150 miles away from it, but it was perfect, and I wanted it. The only way to look at more than one picture of this house was to sign up for updates with the realtor who had it listed. That led to an insanely excited realtor emailing me other properties on the daily until I finally answered his phone call to discuss my completely unrealistic weekend condo. We talked about this property, in my ideal location, and about how I just need it to become available in 5 years when, if all goes according to plan, I’m completely out of debt and can think of something like this.

I thought he understood that this was a silly dream, until he said “I can get you pre-approved for this and we can sell your house.” Well duh. Of course you can do both of those things, and to prove it, I let him run my credit just for the heck of it. About an hour later he called me back and said “WOW! You have excellent credit considering your situation.” Excuse me…yeah…the dude knows about my single parent, doing everything on my own situation, but seriously?! Nope. I’m not in the mood to play nice. I told him “Thanks, but I have excellent credit period. You could have left it at that. There was no need to insult me by adding ‘considering your situation.’ I’m not ready to buy a home at the moment anyway, but you can rest assured that I will not be using you when I am.” He had the nerve to text me the next day with another listing. I responded with a screen shot of my credit score and the page of another realtor at a competing company.

Another time, I was having my car serviced at the dealership where I purchased it. As the service manager was pulling up my vehicle information so he could try to sell me something I didn’t need, he scrolled through the records, looked at me and said “This vehicle is very well maintained for a girl’s car.” Um…excuse me. I didn’t even have to say anything. I watched his boss walk up to him, scroll through my service records, and then say “This car is very well maintained period. Whether or not it belongs to a girl isn’t part of the equation here. Ms. Foster, we’ll be doing your oil change and tire rotation for free today.” That is how you handle customer service! I wasn’t even offended at the time, but God bless that man’s supervisor for being offended for me, and saving me $50.

Today, I had the distinct pleasure of hearing how child support was a way for women to steal money from men and keep their children away from them. Seriously, these words were actually spoken to me…by a person who KNOWS I have raised a kid COMPLETELY on my own, with no financial help from anyone. This completely insane argument comes from someone who knows how much the measly $250 a month I SHOULD have had coming in would have helped. And no, I surely wouldn’t be making so much with child support that I never had to work.

It’s been 2 hours since that 30 minute lecture concluded, and I still have fingernail imprints in my palms from clenching my fists so tightly. During that 30 minutes, I heard everything from how women use child support as a way to steal money from men so they can have nice things and not take care of their kids, to how unfair it is for men to have to pay so much child support that women don’t have to work. It was even thrown in there somewhere that lawyers do shady things to make it so men are forced to pay more than is fair.

That conversation ended with this person saying “Well, that’s really just me venting, but if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t ever have kids, or get married.” Somehow I summoned the ability to keep my mouth shut instead of saying “Well, I know your kids, and even I can’t argue with that logic.” Somehow I fought off those tears…the ones that come when you’re so angry that you’re either going to punch something or cry. I’ll tell myself it’s because I haven’t cried since October 30, and this stupid conversation isn’t worth it. It’s really probably because I value my job, and my ability to pay for my own shit, because you know….child support is just a way for women to not have to work, and since my kid is 18 now, I can’t be living that $250 a month high life that I should have been living for the last 18 years.