When Your Period Gaslights You

Standard

Some people get travel- constipation. I get travel- weird periods. It doesn’t help that I am traveling with a dueling uterus who wants to be Alpha. She won out this month and threw me off even more.

I knew it was only a matter of time; the calendar said I was a smidge late and my bitchiness and annoyance of EV-ER-Y-THING said menses was imminent. But, I came down with a chest cold/allergy issue (I secretly think Texas is trying to kill me already) and I stopped caring about bleeding.

And then, last night – or should I say in the wee-est hours of this morning- I felt the signs. I woke up with some serious late period cramping and backaches. I had the tell tale signs of uterine pressure, like a too-filled water balloon ready to flood and I also had a super weird craving for nachos. I don’t  even know what that was all about.

If you’re following me, you know I am essentially homeless, living with my family in a hotel (room). My hotel bed has beautifully crisp white sheets and a super comfortable white faux-down comforter and a bright white over-the-comforter extra sheet thingy. White. WHITE. Everywhere.

I cannot start my period engulfed in white. I just can’t. These “signs” are making me think that I absolutely will wake up in a pool of my own blood, worthy of a CSI investigation. How would I recover from that? How do you broach that conversation with housekeeping?? WHAT IF IT GET’S ON THE MATTRESS?? And then a scenario flashes before my eyes: bed sheets soaked in gallons of red. Me frantically clawing the bedding off, only to discover the huge red body outline on the mattress. The horror etched on my family’s faces. And then our silhouettes slowly walking into the darkness of night, illuminated by the red-orange  glow from the blaze behind us. Because I would have to burn this bitch down if I start my Carrie-inspired period tonight and bled all over this rental bed.

So, I jump out of bed as smoothly and quietly as I can in the pitch black of half-morning half-night  and feel my way into my bag for underwear (I am already positive the ones I have on are ruined forever) and do the awkward-stepping-arms-straight-out walk to the bathroom. The light blinds me immediately, and I fumble to close the door behind me, quickly and quietly. I waist down strip and rummage through my toiletry bags to find my “products”. In squinty-eyed defeat, I realize they are in my suitcase. In the closet. Which is back through the inky darkness from which I just came. Panic. Wait… over there. Brightly colored stars and hearts and tribal motifs. YES!! Uterus 2, you were smart and left your shit in the bathroom. I grab the little box and  my fresh underpants and happily unwrap a panty liner. But then, I realize I am NOT in fact covered in my own blood. As a matter of fact, things seem under control.  But, those pangs in my lower areas sing to me. My aching back knowingly echos the same.

“You will have to burn this bitch down come morning”. 

So I immediately grab a (tween sized) pad. With wings, mind you.  And I affix this, over the liner, to my underpants. Well, first I have to unstick the wings-part from all the other places it stuck BEFORE it found it’s home wrapped around my underpants.

Let me pause here for a minute to impart some next-day-after-coffee clarity. In my head, all of the above action was done in ninja-like silence. Nary a peep heard by my soundly sleeping family. But the reality is, it probably sounded more like a construction zone, or at least a bustling office. I mean, aside from the falling out of bed and blindly getting to the bathroom, we all know that  opening ladies product wrappers is literally the loudest sound on earth. It’s science. If a sonic boom and kotex wrapper were to go head-to-head? Kotex, hands down. Every time. I am pretty sure you can hear that shit in space.

I finish in the bathroom, use The Force to get back to bed since the wattage of the bathroom light was brilliant and totally screwed me on the return voyage, and sometime before the sun comes up I manage to get back to sleep without those nachos I was desperate for.

And when I rise in the morning, AFTER 9 A.M., I quickly stake claim to the bathroom to find one lone red dot on my fortress of dry-weave. Not a mess. Not a crime scene. Not even a need to change anything. A speck. I could have slept NAKED and not left a mark.

Well played period pangs. You effed with me real good.

Breakfast in a Hotel

Standard

Yesterday I told you all about my glam life living in a hotel (room). Well, one of those posh perks is getting complimentary breakfast. This comes in super handy since my kids have started school, while living in a hotel (room), and the already mentioned tiny fridge we have doesn’t allow for extras like milk/juice/real food.

TGILW has been a real gem this week, and has gone down to the lobby for bagel toasting duty. But today, I went.
The loung-ey area was full of business types/ morning people all did up and ready to meet the day head on after a hearty processed breakfast!

And then there was me.

DSC_0461

DSC_0461

Messy hair- don’t care. Yesterday’s mascara caked into the bags under my eyes. My pajama yogas that have lived a thousand lives (and weight changes) complete with who-knows-what-stains all over them, my Target “sports bra” that gives the false impression I’m braless with 30 year old (saggy) boobs as opposed to 41 year old (saggier) boobs, a tank top that is at least 3 duty stations ago old. Oh, and a little drool dried into the chin, for good measure.
I don’t know these people, and my kids need some breakfast, so I’m going about my mom bizness, homeless look be damned.

 

 

Then some ladies walk in. Ladies of employment. No, not that  kind of employment.

Suits. And slick and professional hair do’s. And heels. And nary a drool patch. WTF? It’s like 7 am – in the MORNING. What time did they get up?? Their skirts are wrinkle free – to match their youthful faces, their crisp white blouses were all stain free (what sorcery is this?), they didn’t walk like Frankenstein in their classy pumps, the arms of their  fitted blazer  didn’t bunch around mid-hand like normal. These ladies were straight up adulting.

 

suit

And I stood there with my plate piled with carbs (for the kids!!) and my sad yoga pants and my bra not really helping and my scrunchy morning face and my squinty why-don’t-I-wear-my-glasses-more face and my Gary Busey hair.

And this is my life. 

The Hotel

Standard

do not distrubI live in a hotel. Or should I say, I live in a hotel room. Three other people live in this room with me.  I used to live in a 5/ 5 with vaulted ceilings, a formal dining room and 2 living rooms.

I spend $1.50 to use an aging “community” washer and another $1.50 to shrink everything. Or, I walk my delicates -on hangers- through the lobby and up 5 floors in the elevator. I used to have a part time housekeeper. She did my laundry. She washed and dried the clothes and put my delicates on a line.

I share one bathroom with 3 other people. And if you know me at all, you know I must take a bath. I used to have a  jetted tub that fit two adults, although rarely. I  had my own toilet closet. MY OWN.

My sleeping arrangement is two queens right next to each other, occupied by noise makers. I used to have a queen in it’s own space, in a huge room with blackout curtains and silence.

My refrigerator was made for a dorm room. And it freezes everything. It’s not more cost effective to buy food from the grocery if everything ends up a ‘sicle. I used to have two refrigerators, and would balk at the need for that much space. Ohhhh… that much space!

We have two TV’s. I used to have one. And it was only on for family time and Netflix binges. Why on earth do I need two TV’s when everyone has their own phone AND tablet AND/OR computer? The cords… good lord, the cords. And the “white noise”. And the two TV’s on at the same time while giggles come from tablet/phone/computer Youtube watching and politics and weather and Facebook (which is noiseless, but still evokes noises) and I can’t hide in the bathroom, because: sharing, and I can’t fit in the closet because it’s packed full of my shit because everyone else is using the ONE dresser (I used to have two just for me) and we brought so much stuff. Although, I’ll stop complaining and freaking out for a Bob’s Burgers twofer.

I have a microwave. I used to have a full kitchen complete with an oven. AND a stove. Together. And an island, where I could prep or serve the warm food that came from the together stove-oven. I don’t even know how to make microwave foods. I thought the microwave was for re-warming my coffee 5 different times a day, or warming leftovers. Non ‘sicle leftovers, that is.

When my kids made a mess I used to say, “Hey!, Claudia didn’t work her ass off all day so you could destroy the house in 5 minutes. Now I have to tell the kids to pick all their crap up off the floor so housekeeping can come vacuum 4 days of crumbs from the floor because we  always leave the Do Not Disturb sign in the door. So, I guess not much has changed there… actually.

I used to have a beautiful view of a flower covered hillside and a  dwellings-dotted volcano. Now I have a view of an H.E.B., a Sonic, and 35. One-point-five hours would get me to a practically-deserted, beautiful beach, with warm water and gentle waves. Now that same time frame will get me to Austin, Kerrville(?) , Pleasanton… no beaches

Before I lived in a hotel, I had space for my stuff, for everyone’s stuff. My kids had a designated space for school work that didn’t double as their (shared) bed, or the “living room” or the kitchen island/table/my office. I had that thing that I need to finish this task without having to Mom-Macgyver some nonsense to make it work (*like wrapping a peanut butter sandwich in hotel Kleenex because I didn’t get baggies at the store for school lunches). Having any of those “that thing”‘s right about now would be epic.

Before I lived in a hotel it was never 30-something degrees in the stupid morning.

But, before I lived in a hotel, I didn’t speak the conversational language. I had trouble asking for help or saying I didn’t need any. I couldn’t go on nature hikes, or walk to the grocery store… or SONIC!! Before I lived in a hotel I had shitty margaritas.

Life is just too short for shitty margaritas. 

Before I lived in a hotel, my life was privileged and guarded. I didn’t want for much, but what I wanted  couldn’t be given to me.

Before I lived in a hotel, I thought I knew what I wanted, and where life was going. Now life is going all over the place, and nowhere, all at once.

Hotel living makes you see things differently. Perspective happens. So does irrational behavior. And walking to happy hour instead of making dinner. And questioning your life choices. And seriously reconsidering parenting and marriage.

But mostly, appreciation happens.

Appreciation for the life I have. And the husband who has worked to provide it for us.

For the freedoms I take for granted. Seriously, we walked an entire shopping center, while it was raining.

For my amazing kids who surprise me  everyday, even if I’m glad they’ve started school and I get some personal space now.

I will live in a hotel  room for 10 more days. With three other people. And one bathroom. And two queen beds. And a fridge that may or may not ruin my food.

And after I am done complaining about space and stuff and crumbs and room temperature and food in my workspace and frozen carrots  I will appreciate how lucky I am to share so many hotel rooms with these three people.

Because hotel rooms always equal ADVENTURES.

 

 

 

 

 

IF I Were a Procrastinator…

Standard

I am a list maker.  A task doer. A To-Do haver. A planner.

Usually.

But, IF I were to be one of those procrastinators, today it might look something like this:

I should really finish my Spanish homework. but why be ahead when you can be 2 assignments behind? Three as of tomorrow.

I should also get caught up on that other class … I’m only 2 behind here. But it’s not really “behind” if it’s an open on-line class. Plus, I’m a super quick reader and I live to internet research. Woohoo for a social media chapter. I’ll get caught up tonight instead of whatever in on deck on Netflix. Or after.

My 3.2 mile run is today. I blew it off  rescheduled this morning since I had to catch up on Spanish. Had.To. Otherwise I would be 6 assignments behind… that’s too much pressure. No es nadie tiene tiempo para eso. Then I ate a late breakfast and I couldn’t run on a full tummy. Then I had to do this other stuff… then, the internet. If I leave right now, I can get it in and still have time to shower and get fixed before the bus drops the kids off from school 2.5 hours from now. If I go in 30 minutes I’ll still have time… OR I can run on  Thursday and Friday instead of Wednesday and Thursday.

I was going to take care of errands after my run, this morning. Ooops. I need stuff for dinner, and I can’t put dinner in the crockpot until I get them. And I can’t do my errands until after my run. And by  then, will it be too late for my dinner recipe? I could go now. Right now!! But, I’m blogging.

Washing my face. I can’t do this until after I run, or my moisturizer will get in my eyes and burn like hell and then people will think I’m crying on the treadmill again. I can’t go without because I’m old and I live closer to the equator. I did say I could push that run to tomorrow. But back to back runs? That might not be a smart idea.

Maybe I should look that up on Pinterest. Ohhh, and I could find a different recipe.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 119 – What I Did Today

Standard

I am so bored. SO. Bored. I am supposed to be doing “homework” . And writing. And blogging. And training for a 10-miler. I didn’t really do any of those things. My motivation has taken a vacation. I have a “sick” kid home today who doesn’t need my attention, so I can’t even use that as an excuse. Although, I will. I spent a whole day doing nothing. So much nothing, I made a list of the nothing I did.

made a cup of coffee

facebook

pinterest

the news – online of course

read some pieces on Scary Mommy because I want to submit pieces there

facebook

stared at my online class assignment

brushed my teeth and “did” my hair. No one would ever notice, though

let my maid in. Yes, I have a maid

got dressed

stared at my other online assignment.

made breakfast

Practiced Spanish – that means I organized my homemade flashcards – that means I put them in a neater pile.

facebook

what’s for dinner?

made a list for the vegetable guy. Yes, my maid gets my vegetables from the vegetable guy

skyped with my oldest kid

made lunch

answered emails – semi urgent business

facebook

read Trump news – got irritated this guy could rule the world.

realized I’ve been in El Salvador over 100 days

got lunch time kisses from TGILW

face-pinter-blog-web

watched a movie with the “sick kid” –  got sad when Ray got smooshed by the Shadow Man

watched my maid cut up my vegetables. Chatted about the weather, really

found out Lularoe has athletic capris – stalked several Lula rep

read  some more online blog posts

listened to middle kid practice guitar – her teacher is amazing

stared at my daily “to do” list and realized I was ignoring it. “WRITE” stared back at me.

started 4 lame blog posts. saved those for later

wrote this one

That’s it. A day in the life of TMMW. Don’t hate.

 

Pinterest Just got Passive -Agressive : Picked For You

Standard

So, I’m laying in bed last night,  scrolling through Pinterest.

How many freaking sentences have I started this way? This could literally be ANY night for the last too many years. I loooove Pinterest. I do. If I were to run away, you would find me on an island -with Pinterest- pinning  ideas on how to fix up my beachfront lean-to or make smoothies from whatever native plants I have around me; organic, ya’ll.

Anyways, so there I am scrolling when I come across this pin in my feed that made me actually laugh out loud. I look down and notice it’s a “picked for you” pin. Pinterest really knows me, I think to myself. Pinterest gets it. Pinterest can speak to my soul.

This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this. I actually have a board titled Picked For Me. I don’t like to flaunt how well Pinterest knows me, but I’ve kept a few faves.

I scroll past two or three funny memes or mermaid pictures, and my smile grows because Pinterest is in love with me and can sense my wants and needs. We would do just fine on that island, me and Pinterest. But then, I see something that makes me squint and get judgy. “Who pins this crap?” I think as my eyes zoom in on what friend I’m about to make fun of in my head.

Picked for You happily meets my gaze. WTF? Why would Pinterest think I would like this? What in the hell could I have typed into the search bar to put this in my feed to make Pinterest think this is an interest or a want? Pinterest, why?!?! I trusted you.

So,OF COURSE, I frantically look at all the “picked for you” shit. Like a girl who notices a “like” from some girl on her BF’s  Facebook page and combs through every post, I need to get to the bottom of this nonsense.

I came to find that quite a few pictures in my feed that I totally rolled my eyes at were Picked For Me. Oh… it’s like that now, huh Pinterest? Is this because I was checking out Houzz? Because I did all that debate tweeting?! Because I was subscribing to Youtube channels? It was for work, errr future work!!

As I scrolled through all those pins just for me, I really started to see an evolution in Pinterests passive-aggressive behavior. Maybe I was too close and couldn’t see it before. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe I never paid enough attention to those pins in my feed and Pinterest got sick of being ignored.

I don’t know exactly when the tides turned, but they did. Can it ever be the same?

angry sorry

 

 

In better days, before Pinterest and I got too comfortable. These are both totally my humor. they are something I would for sure Pin myself.

 

 

shorts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then there was this one, still really funny. But is that a jab? Are you trying to say something Pinterest?

doing nothing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and then this… Um…  yes, I have a big butt, yet I DO NOT have this problem. I Wish I could have this problem.

big butts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This one right here… why would you pick a pin about long hair?? I have SHORT hair. I like short hair. as a matter of fact last month I got my hair cut really short. Granted, I looked like Willy Wonka… wait, you ARE trying to tell me something.

long hair

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This was the last straw. I am pretty sure the one on the left is actually me. And the one on the right is one of your French girls? Is that it Pinterest? Well, screw you. Back fat isn’t that big of a deal.

The actual caption to this one is: 4 Quick Exercises to Get Rid of Underarm Flab and Back Bulge in 3 Weeks – Wow. Real subtle.

flab

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe this is a lesson in being humble? Maybe this was to show me I post annoying crap, just like everyone else. Maybe I was asking for this? I feel so betrayed. All those long hours in bed together, planning my whole  fake life (like I was ever going to buy half of the nonsense. Or DIY an entire kitchen. Or chalk paint.) You are a fickle friend.

 

But I just can’t quit you, Pinterest. 

 

 

 

2016 GOP Debate Roundup –

Standard

For all my sweet readers who missed the 2016 GOP debates either because of the pesky Eastern time slot/lack of interest OR you don’t want to get all of your information from reputable news sources like Facebook,Twitter, Fox and CNN, I have created a little TMMW roundup for you.

Now – I don’t align myself with either party (I like to consider myself a right leaning independent with liberal tendencies) so I feel my facts (opinions) will be pretty unbiased. I am also not a devout Obama-liever, or whatever nickname is cool/derogatory for staunch supporters. I DO believe that the POTUS as commander in chief deserves some respect in title.

With all that mumbo jumbo out of the way, let us begin…

I came in about 12 minutes late to the party, as I had to get my online streaming set up and it took  a hot minute. I also had to argue with my shoulder angel/devil about having a glass of wine. Shoulder devil won that round. When I came in, Trump was babbling around whatever questions was asked, and Cruz was interrupting him, or vice versa – like I said, I came in late.

In a nutshell (and for those who don’t care about politics or my opinion)

Ben Carson started making sense. That is  not an endorsement.

Ted Cruz got a personality.

Donald Trump couldn’t form a complete coherent sentence and knows way too much about shady foreign business transactions because he participates in them.

Marco Rubio  has a whole campaign based on  undoing everything Obama has done

Chris Christie is still throwing around his “as a prosecutor” stories and name dropping

Jeb Bush – Still a Bush

John Kasich- might be the most level headed guy in the room, but he’s old and no one wants listen to him.

 

The tit for tat commentary was embarrassing. These are grown ass men, why are they taking jabs at each other like this? If they can’t get along at the debate podiums, how can we expect one of these men to get along with Congress and represent the USA as commander in chief?

The Obama bashing HAS TO STOP (I’m looking at you, Rubio). We all know what Obama has done. We’ve all been here the last 8 years. So many questions (looking at you again, Rubio) were answered with a 2 minute diatribe about how Obama has fucked the issue up. It’s just unbecoming. If the moderator asks a questions, I want the person the question is directed to to answer the question. I would like the answer to be based on FACT and knowledge.  Maybe give some examples of how a different approach would work, or how it has worked. and I would like the other people on the stage to shut their soup coolers until the question has been answered.

Stop talking about Hillary and Benghazi and emails to make your point. Who are you trying to win over with this? Most of the people in the whole galaxy have already heard these stories and formed their opinions. If those are the only things keeping you from being “better” than your opponent, it’s time to step up your game.

I can’t stand mudslinging.

Do not sell me a product by telling me how shitty the other product is. Tell me how good your product is. Tell me what your product needs to work on, and how you are making that change for the better of the product and the consumer.

Every one of the candidates talked about Obama’s rouge decision making and leadership, and claimed his inability to work with congress was unconstitutional. Every one  of the candidates used “I will do XYZ”… Not a lot of mention of Congress, teamwork, branches. None of these people seem able to play well with others and they all know how this thing works.

At the end I felt like no one on the GOP campaign speaks for me. How can you have this many choices and  feel so isolated? Just when I start to feel like I relate or agree with someone, they throw out something utterly ridiculous  and the moment is gone.  I feel sad that there are TWO female candidates and neither represents my needs or concerns.  I feel that showmanship and shock and awe will win out over common sense and communication. I can’t understand why more people don’t jump on the third party bandwagon.

In other news, my wine was delicious.