Cleveland At Heart

I'll probably regret this post, but what the heck.

For starters, I have a therapist. 

But that's not the part I'm going to feel bad about posting. I mean come on, who of this generation DOESN'T have a therapist at some point or another? I started seeing her years ago when I was working through some stuff, and I still see her a few times a year just to get my bearings. It's priceless to run things by an objective third party sometimes. 

So here's what makes me feel like a terrible person. I went to see her today, for the first time since November. And my bump-suspicions from back then were confirmed: she's now visibly pregnant... and I'm MAD AT HER for it. 

Yes. I said it. The most selfish and anti-feminist thought that could possibly have popped into my head.

Now I can't talk to her about my own disgust with and terror of the idea of eventual motherhood, which is a topic I bring up often. I can't talk to her about my distress over a lack of close female friends, which is another perennial topic of discussion. Of course she wouldn't mind if I did, but I would feel awkward. Sure she held her clipboard in front of her beautiful little buddha belly for the whole hour, but its presence was still there and known. No matter how professional she is in her demeanor, it's now an elephant in the room. She's a mom. She's a woman. She's no longer the objective third party my insurance company is paying her to be.   

And seriously, do I really want to talk to her about ANY of my problems now that her innocent little fetus has sprouted ears? The simple fact that I had to start seeing a therapist in the first place is proof enough of the damage done to a kid when she became too aware of adult problems too young. 

I totally understand that it's her right to reproduce as she wishes. She's probably a good mom and the little thing will probably be cute and bring joy to the world and all that stuff when it's born.  I took women's studies classes in college (thought about it as a major, actually), and have read extensively on my own about what past generations of women went through to gain the same rights as men in the workplace (still workin' on wage equality, though). But honestly? If I'd have known when I established our client-clinician relationship that she was going to have more kids, I might have sought out someone else. Ouch.

Wow. There you have it. The worst thought I have ever "voiced". Sorry I had to tell all of you about it, but what can I say... I couldn't exactly save it for my quarterly therapist appointment like I usually do with things I deem "unfit to post". ;) 

I'm going to go stick my foot (typing fingers?) in my mouth now. 

Twentymanythings

Yesterday I spent a good hour or two browsing through profiles and blogs on 20-Something Bloggers (which, as you can see by my proudly-displayed badge, I am now an official member of). And it got me thinking: "twentysomething" is such a broad category. 

I am currently twenty-eight years, ten months, two weeks, and one day old. And as I sifted through people's digital representations of their lives yesterday, I suddenly felt like I was thirteen again: stuck between two periods of life. I am so far, SO far beyond the carefree college days of my early twenties. But I am nowhere near as into the settling down and having kids phase that so many people my age (and younger) are. 

There are so many different phases of our twenties that we go through in myriad orders and combinations. You could think of it in terms of music you liked, people you associated with, jobs you held, clothes you wore, goals you set... however you choose to categorize it, it's a decade of massive transformation. 

Here are some fast-forward snippets through mine: 

Early Twenties: College. Perfectionist to the Nth degree. Got straight A's. Worked out every single day, often twice. Despite intense feminist devotions and remnants of high school interest in riot grrl, struggled with eating disorders and dated mostly idiots. Still wore combat boots or Converse All-stars almost every day. Once wore electrical tape to a party. Avoided alcohol most of the time for fear of empty calories. Still dyed hair red, purple, black, etc. often. Still had tongue (and other things) pierced. Got so skinny and messed up that I got frighteningly near killing myself accidentally (this incident caused me to miss my own grandmother's funeral). Loved live music and went to several shows a month. Managed to screw up most of my close, meaningful friendships because I was so unhealthily obsessed with "perfection" that I pushed everyone away. Worked at a coffee shop and in a group home for mentally handicapped men. Read French language magazines. Believed myself to be creative and interesting. 

Mid Twenties: Got my sh*t together in time for student teaching, graduation, and beginning of career. Started blogging. Lived in Lakewood with roommate Heidi for a year after college, then went off on my own. Worked full time AND attended grad school full time. Appreciated sweatpants for the first time in my life. Thoroughly enjoyed living it up in my bachelorette pad. Dated a few idiots, and a few guys who weren't all that bad (but just weren't right... like Goldilocks tasting porridge, haha). Discovered my inner domestic goddess. Began working on rebuilding family relationships. Attended dozens of weddings. Got to be a "popular girl" at work and ran around with a very fun group of new friends (the kind of girls I would have spit on, given the chance, in high school). Ran my first 5k. Grew my hair long and got highlights. Shamefully went tanning a few times a week for about a year. Twenty-six was a big year: I left my good job for an amazing offer at an even better job, started dating CJ and decided we should get a place together. Finished graduate school and moved to Shaker Square. 

Late Twenties. Lived in awesome apartment with CJ. Got robbed. Clung to yoga and writing for survival. Felt like part of a new family; one that has taught me that family can be very different from what I am used to. Made peace with members of my own family. Tried many new things just to prove I wasn't old. Traveled to Istanbul to teach for two weeks. Considered alternatives to original career choice, but decided to stick with it. Started using wrinkle cream. Discovered that working out is now a necessity, not merely a precaution. Rediscovered reading for pleasure. Traveled to Bangkok. Purchased home. Window treatments. Non-IKEA furniture. Gardening tools. Started 403(b). Experienced occasional oh-god-I'm-a-sellout-grownup panic attacks. Still have one year, one month, and some change left to go... will of course keep you updated. 

It's a lovely day to wear a darling little hat. 

 

I happen to really like this one. Even if CJ says it looks like a yarmulke that a bird crash-landed into. 

Psh. He has so little sense of fashion adventure. 

Do a good thing.

Most of you probably already know about this, but just in case you don't read the blog Cleveland Foodie (you should!) you need to click over to this post from last week and look into the AMAZING incentive she has put together (it involves the possibility of winning DOZENS of free meals from some of Cleveland's tastiest establishments) to get folks to donate to Veggie U (a fantastic and much-needed program). Go! Now! Read and donate, even if it's just five bucks.  I'm not even going to write anything else, so you won't be distracted and put it off. 

I think I've paid too much attention to the news over the past two weeks. So much talk about the possible "Cadillac tax" on "Cadillac health plans"... I NOW HAVE THE SONG "CADILLAC PUSSY" STUCK IN MY HEAD.

 I can't believe this is happening to me. I am going to have to wear a wig and/or a mask when I go to the library to get the CD so I can listen to it to get it out of my head. 

Bachelorette night!

Well, I suppose every night is technically a bachelorette night 'cause I'm "an unmarried young woman" as my hardcover Merriam-Webster defines the word. But in nearly three years of cohabitation, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been alone at home overnight (I'm not counting my stint in Istanbul, various road trips, etc. because despite CJ not being there I wasn't actually HOME).  

So anyhow, this afternoon CJ headed to Columbus to eat pizza & fast food and play video games in his underwear (or something like that) with his soon-to-be brother in law (AJ) and AJ's best friend. As he left, I though to myself that I ought to take this opportunity to do everything I can't do when he's around. Giggle! Yay! Girl time! 

So I thought. And thought. And I realized I have a pretty damn tolerant boyfriend. I thank his three sisters for breaking him in for me. 

The only thing I could think of that he absolutely can't stand me doing is..... drumroll...  eating crackers in bed. 

Wait! Stop! It's not a habit or weird fetish like George's corned beef issue in that episode of Seinfeld (see below) ... it's just something I did once and he flipped out over. Apparently he doesn't mind if I let my cat walk on the dining room table and drink out of my cereal bowl, he's fine with it if I crank up an old Bratmobile CD and sing along at top volume, and likes me enough that he's even learned to tolerate the mountain range of laundry that develops between the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room. He's even trained himself to tune out the DVDs I watch over and over and over again for background noise when I'm doing work at home. 

I guess I have it pretty good after all. 

Just to feel wild and unrestrained, though, I just might walk to the store and buy some Triscuits to munch on after tucking myself in with one of the thirty-seven novels, journals, magazines, and crossword puzzle books I keep stashed by the bed. Muah hah hah. While the cat is away, the mouse will play. 

OMG! I has 2 lolcats!

Yes, it's true. One more thing has been checked off my bucket list: my furrykids have been featured on I Can Has Cheezburger. 

I admit that I am semi-addicted to the site (by "semi-addicted" I mean I only check it about twice a day... and failblog a few times a week). I've uploaded a bunch of photos of my kitties over the past few months and figured that eventually one of the people who spend their whole days on the site would use them. On Tuesday, I did one of my daily checks and there they were: 

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

My babies playing in the basement (well, the little one was playing and the big one was suppressing the urge to kill him and eat his eyeballs)! If you actually go to the site, you can see the 20 or so other captions people have added to it. And hundreds of weird comments. 

Such an odd and shrinking world we live in.

I have to admit I'm a little hurt by all of the comments about Bean being fat. She's really not that big, OK? She has put on a little weight since the kitten moved in, because she keeps eating his super-ultra-miracle-gro kitten food instead of her lazy-old-indoor-cat-preservation food. 

Anyhow, that's all I have time for. The talent agents have my phone ringing off the hook (is that saying going to become extinct in the next generation when no one has any memory of a phone ever having been on a hook?) wanting to feature Hammond and Bean in their kitty litter ads, carpet cleaner commercials, and even high-end designer fragrance promotions. Sigh. I hope it doesn't go to their heads too much...

Time off... such a fond memory

I had two glorious weeks off over the holidays. It was heaven.  I stayed up late with C, and slept in with the kitten.  Had good times with friends and family, and even HOSTED xmas day at our house. I cooked and baked and ate. I made it to the gym many times for much-needed "play time". I DID NOT TOUCH WORK-RELATED MATERIALS FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT at one point -- this may very well be a record.  I read books and magazines. It snowed and sparkled and was beautiful.  

              

 
           
 

And then it ended. :(

I returned to work on Monday, leaving C at home sick. I've been busy as heck at work, but have been rushing home as early as possible to make sure he hasn't passed out from coughing so much. I haven't gotten any significant housework done, and since C is out of commission all week he hasn't either. I'm getting stressed out over how terrible he seems to feel... no amount of NyQuil seems to make him better. Sigh. It sucks to see someone you love be uncomfortable/unhappy and have no ability to change it. 

Speaking of change, I have, however, stuck to my new year's resolutions so far. Even better, I'm so happy  that some of my "family" members also made sincere and worthwhile resolutions. Cynical though I may be most of the time, I really love this time of year when people are hopeful and open to reassessing priorities and goals. Now that I know other people are doing the same, I feel better about doing it myself. 

I've really been enjoying the read-a-poem-a-day resolution. Charles Bukowski has been my main source so far, but today I read a few by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I'll leave you with a short but sweet poem by her -- it's one that I think most people who read this can relate to. 

Grown-up

Was it for this I uttered prayers

And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, 

That now, domestic as a plate, 

I should retire at half-past eight? 

-- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Holy bloody hell. I just opened up my new calendar and began writing important upcoming events and such in it... and then, out of nowhere, I flipped too far... not realizing that it had an extra three months in the end... and came face-to-face with MY THIRTIETH BIRTHDAY. That's enough to shake a girl up, even if she's always thought it's no big deal. Glaring right at me from a current planner, it caught me by surprise. Without my guard up, I have to admit it made me feel a little queasy.

...and one more resolution for 2010

GET BACK IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER BADASS. Seriously. Long ago I was a much tougher chickie to the rest of the world. Somewhere late in college I became quite a people-pleaser and lost the edge. That, coupled with my desire to be employed in a profession that is traditionally held by more conservative-looking people, I toned it down quite a bit. Sometimes I swear I don't even recognize myself when I look in the mirror. Now, though, I think I'm old enough that I could get away with not being quite so wimpy anymore. 

Humph. 

On a completely unrelated note, I'm really enjoying this week of not having to go in to work. I've been reading. Talking to people I have lost touch with. GOING places. Enjoying life in general. I even took a few minutes today to read a few random blogs just for fun. Here's an article I enjoyed on a blog I'd never read before.