Letting Go

I wanted to title this post “burying the past” but I thought “letting go” sounded more positive. 

In a way though, I had to bury the past to let go. Metaphorically speaking. I had to come to terms with fact that life as I knew it was over. It was gone, it wasn’t coming back, no matter how much I wished, or prayed, or slept, every time I woke up the world was still completely different. And there was nothing I could do about it. Not a thing. 

The only thing I could do was pause. For a long time. 

Pause. Process. Cry. Repeat. 

After months and months of digesting everything that was happening, it was like I’d come up for air, and as soon as I felt myself catching my breath I was drug back under into the murky abyss. 

Dismal. For months. 

After deciding to take control back, I got angry. 

Angry at the people I thought loved and cared about me. 

But that fire stoked a passion I was missing. One I had and needed back. 

And now I’m ready. Ready to let go, ready to move forward, ready to love life, pursue passions with new outlooks. Ready to live authenticity and just be me. 

I can’t believe it took me this long, but here is to never looking back. 

Bring.It.On. 

This candle was in a small shop I came across and is called “letting go of the past” so as cheesy as it is, I bought it, burned it, and blew it out. 


Bye Felicia. 

The Psychic

It’s no secret I have been going through one of the roughest patches of my life. And as all people who have been through some serious shit say, it’s amazing those who stick close by you and the ones that drop you. It truly shocked me the people in my life that just walked out, but onward and upward. Moving forward, only way to go.

One of the friends that stuck by my side and called and texted and checked in had just had a baby a few months ago. She knew I was feeling down and ask if she could come visit with the baby for a few days.

When she got here we threw our arms around each other and shrieked and jumped up and down in excitement to see each other.

I got to coo and goo over her baby, who is seriously the best baby. So adorable, easy-going, sweet, alert… and oh so handsome! You just want to hug and squeeze on him all the time.

A few hours later I am inevitably spilling my guts and crying about what is going on in my life.

She says she totally understands, but that she didn’t want to see me so sad.

Wanting to just do something fun my friend suggest going and doing a psychic reading.

“It’ll be fun, come on… ”

We find a place and they can take both of us at the same time, multiple “readers.”

I immediately giggle inside at my guy. He is in his seventies and has a bad toupee and a great southern accent. I secretly roll my eyes in my head wondering why I let my friend talk me into this.

He sits down, and tells me he is going to record the session and put it on a CD for me.

I nod and shake my head up and down and he ask to see my palms.

“Well… Good life lines, good health, signs of management, prosperity, wealth, you’re sensitive, you can literally feel other people’s pain, and very intuitive, all good, all very good. Stubborn. Very very stubborn. Which can be good, until it’s not, mmmhmm…”

He looks at me and I smile and laugh and say, yeah, dead on.

He continues, “You’re so stubborn you jump out the frying pan into the fire.”

More laughter from me, and more nods from him.

“No one can tell you anything. You have to figure it out for yourself. You have to get burned at the stake and then you learn your lesson. At least you learn it though.”

I cannot believe how dead on this guy is.

“When is your birthday dear?”

I tell him and he says, “Ah, a Sagittarius. Lucky lucky sign. You’re like a cat with nine lives, always landing on your feet. See this?”

He points to a spot on my palm.

“This is your mound of Jupiter. You like to travel don’t you? When you speak people see pictures. Extremely visual. What do you do for work dear?”

I told him I was currently looking and he reassured me it would fall in my lap.

He read my cards and said the next few months would be tough, but I’d come out smelling like a rose and 2018 would be my year.

He told me to love myself by just being “who you already are, a bright, shinning intelligent human who deeply cares for others.”

He told me a bunch of other cool stuff which I couldn’t believe, and won’t bore you with.

As my friend and I shopped around I found this… which I now wear around my neck.

My friend commented how much calmer and relaxed I seemed just minutes after our reading, and I said something like this, you know… I just took back control. And I found the key I’ve been searching for my whole life.

*We went to the psychic for the sole purpose of entertainment, and entertaining it was.

My First College Party

I was probably a little younger than most when I went to my first college party. I was eight, and I guess already trying to act like Drew Barrymore.

I was in Denver with my mom staying with friends. Not so surprisingly, the 16-year-old of the house was grounded. And trying to figure out how to escape.

So Emily walks up to her mom and ask if she can take me to get ice cream at Hagen Daz. Her mom says that’s fine and my mom looks at the clock and shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything. See… Emily was the first person to ever give me sugar when I was five years old. She was babysitting and insisted my Cheerios would  be much better with heaping tablespoons of sugar. I was hooked the moment I took the first bite, and she offered me a coke to go with it. My mother has never forgiven Emily for getting me hooked on the white stuff.

Emily was the best babysitter. She let me microwave marsh mellows, which ended up exploding and catching the microwave on fire. She taught me how to build forts. She even put 210’s {very very long adult skis} on my five year old very short body and tried to teach me to ski in her front yard {I ended up spread eagle around a rose bush, turns out, I needed real lessons, but I digress}… And at the ripe old age of eight, she took me to “get ice cream.”

I found out once we got in the car that apparently “ice cream” was code for college party. She instructed me to get in the back seat and promptly picked up one of her friends from Cherry Creek high school where Emily was a cheer leader. Her  blond friend  bounced out of the house and climbed in the car.

I remember listening to the Door’s LA Woman while the two teen girls in front gossiped about all the cute boys that would be there.

We arrived and Emily and her friend quickly disappeared leaving my eight year old self to my own devices.

A guy came up to me and actually offered be a beer, to which I replied, “Um, I’m only eight.”  To which he replied, “Eh, you can never start too young.” I shrugged, took a sip and spit it out all over him. He laughed and assured me one day I’d like the taste.

Emily apparently saw me drinking beer and decided it was time to call it a night. I’ll always think of Emily as the best babysitter I ever had. And I need to go visit her kids. They are 8 and 5 and have never had sugar, or been to a college party. I think it’s time to continue the cycle.

Depression, Vertigo, and Social Awkwardness

As someone who finds it quite difficult to keep up a blog when they feel like they are on fire and are constantly on Stop. Drop. and Roll status… I have not been blogging through my latest and greatest breakdown {I mean, obvi.}. I remember my favorite religion professor once said, I forget who he was quoting… “The mind is like a drunken monkey, in a cage, with his tail on fire.” Dr. Fort, I am going to have to agree with whoever first said that, and you, of course.

Since not having a job, losing friends, a fiancé, flying all over the country and fighting with my parents, I thought, hmmm… Maybe it is me. NO. Certainly that cannot be right. Oh, but it was. It was {said in my best Dateline voice}. I have spent a fair amount of the fall and winter apologizing to all of the above, and people who didn’t quite deserve it, like when I kept apologizing to the lady behind me at the grocery store for having so many groceries. I really don’t feel so bad about that, but I digress.

At the beginning of February I got really sick, and more depressed. Not having a job is no bueno for me. I need and crave structure and this was not cutting it. I started getting blurry vision. My stomach hurt all the time, and then came the wretched vomiting. I know, TMI, but that week sucked. Then it started sucking worse the following week. In addition to my weak stomach, and now dry heaving, every time I rolled over on my left hand side the room would start spinning like I’d had two pitchers of Joe T’s margaritas on my own, but oddly, I hadn’t. I had had a glass of wine, but being able to handle much more, this was freaking me out. The next night there was no drinking, but I took a Xanax. Same as the night before, except now it was happening no matter which direction I rolled.

Then I thought, Holy Crap! Maybe this is 40. Shit, I really am totally falling apart. I see double and now I have vertigo at night. Maybe it’s a brain tumor, as that would explain my episodes this fall… but I decided maybe I needed to take two Xanax and not drink. Vertigo all night.

I woke up the next morning and thought, okay, no drinking, no Xanax… Just make the room stop spinning. That night I took nothing and the Vertigo became much worse. The following morning I woke up, and  after I ran into the wall and fell over I started screaming for my boyfriend. He hopped up and whisked me off the nearest ER facility.

Turns out, there was no brain tumor. Just a double inner ear infection, some nasty looking nasal and sinus cavities. Then the doctor explained that was what was causing the vomiting and the added anxiety I was definitely having.

I went home, took my meds, prayed for the spinning to stop as it was now happening as I was sitting up and walking as well. About 8 hours later I am feeling a lot better. Not 100 percent, but not 24 percent either, so things are looking way better. I could actually watch TV and focus!!! So I rented the movie “The Edge of Seventeen,” which I had remembered wanting to see in the theater, so I flipped it on. And then it happened… I started laughing. The writing and character development is so on point, it really is the greatest coming of age film since Juno, and before that, all John Hughes films. And I really started relating to the main character. Who is seventeen.

She is socially awkward. I, am hugely socially awkward. Many people would probably not believe this, and I have come a long way since middle school, but I’m still socially awkward. I live in Texas and glow in the dark because I’m so white. I have red hair and freckles. Apparently, these were not good characteristics back in lower and middle school.

In the sixth grade, “The Dooney and Burke” incident occurred cinching and putting on full blast that I was friendless, as was the girl in the movie. It was my birthday week and I got to go skiing and take a friend. Mind you, I only got to take a friend because I am an only child, and this made life much better for my parents on vacay. I had ask for the same red drawstring Dooney and Burke that one of my friends had gotten for her birthday a couple of months earlier. I remember getting the purse and taking it to school the week before skiing.

When I came home I had no friends. Like, zero. A girl, that I had been friends with, was apparently jealous that I didn’t invite her skiing, so she took the week I was gone to convince everyone I was a spoiled bitch, and that everyone should never speak to me again. And it worked. She was a cheerleader and very well liked. For a year and a half. It was brutal. I’ll never forget that year and a half, and still refer to it as “life changing” because after that, I lost myself.

I was so scared of pissing off an entire grade of girls that I definitely became that girl that was all, you like blueberry and chocolate ice cream mixed together with gummy bears? How weird, cause that is… ONLY LIKE MY FAVORITE!  I was now devoid of any opinion. I just didn’t want an entire grade of girls to turn on me again. I avoided school dances and people in general for that year and a half, until one day… I met another socially awkward girl!!! We would beg our parents to let us stay home from dances, birthday parties, and any social function in order to watch “Can’t Buy Me Love” and “Golden Girls” where I felt a nice mix of Rose {Betty White} and Bea Arthurs character, what was her name? I probably don’t remember as I definitely identified more with Rose.

I mean, when my friend and I finally got up the balls to go to the Halloween costume dance in eight grade, we were not dressed as cheerleaders, or anything involving short skirts and attention. We… went as the Golden Girls, and I’m fairly confident I spent half the evening talking to the janitor about how cool it was to be eating strawberry ice cream, because, I really liked strawberry ice cream, but because of all the calories I had to switch to cottage cheese with strawberries, which wasn’t the same, but wasn’t all bad either.

Yep. I was the epitome of cool. The janitor avoided me from that day on.

Somehow I survived high school, had acquired a lot more of my old friends, and some of them taught me how to drink and smoke cigarettes, and even not turn and walk away when a boy said hi, which helped greatly with my anxiety and awkwardness. High school was much better, college, even more so.

So… I’m feeling like I might be back. Back to blogging. I’m not on fire anymore but still dealing with a lot of wounds that I caused. That is to be expected. Apparently you can’t act like a seventeen year old at age 40. It’s just not working for me anymore. I realized what a complete and total ass I have been, and I’ve been making changes and working with a therapist, and low and behold… It’s actually been helping. A work in progress if you will.

Gotta love an excellent therapist. And the forgivness of those you have wronged.

Hurricane Season

Yes, I am listening to Bob Dylan right now. Yes, it is The Hurricane. I find it quite appropriate right now. Tis the season of my life. I am reminded of my first blog post, which you can read here. I knew then that life was going to take many twist and turns, but I definitely could not in a million years have been prepared for what was about to take place.

I was prepared to sit down and write so much, but it’s just not coming out. It’s hard for me to write about. It’s still to fresh for me. I’m still trying to process, trying to make sense of everything… Just trying to breath. Focus on the present, my adorable children. And the gym that is about to open. Yes. The Gym.

I am taking part in a gym where my focus is yoga, kids activities, POUND and twerking classes. Talk about different and not my comfort zone. Much more on that to come. It is set to open in December.

As I find my bearings and re-group, I thank you for having patience with me. Goodness gracious! There are many good things to come. I just want to remind people that no matter what you are going through, even if it seems unbareable, just remember, it’s just a season. It will pass. It will teach you things about yourself. What to change, what to let go, and what to hold onto.

I am grateful for many things as I move through this seasons of my life. Good things are on the horizon.

Drama for your Mama.

Or whoever. It’s been non stop drama the past few weeks, and I don’t even like drama. So… Drama… be gone! I’m extremely behind on posting, so please bare with me. The good stories are coming soon.

Let me recap the past two weeks… Quit job to pursue my passion which involves writing and opening a studio in a gym. Yes, my own little place for yoga and Twerking and POUND classes and even kids classes. It’s going to be so wonderful, and I am so excited for the opportunity that Shawna Gibson offered me. I’m taking it and running with it. The new Brick Gym will be opening soon, and I cannot wait to see you there!

After quitting my job I decided to spend as much time as possible with one of my best friends who live{ed} in Austin until last week. I was coming home from visiting and was in a wreck. It was a pretty bad wreck and my {then} fiance said he was on his way to get me. Three hours later I called to find out he had changed his mind, but forgot to mention that to me. We broke up right then and there.

That weekend was Utopiafest and I just knew Jamie and I were going to have a great time with all the members of “The Family” that were going. And it was a great weekend, with a major setback. I was slipped drugs. Yes, that means someone gave me drugs I did NOT want to take. However, the festival took care of me better than I could have ever imagined. The head of the festival Aaron Brown, and the entire security team were beyond incredible. I am so grateful for all that they did.

The night of the wreck I met a boy. He ask for my number and I said I was engaged and he could friend me on Facebook, which he did. We started talking and really hit it off. He is an amazing guy and it’s fun looking forward to my phone going off and lighting up when I see it’s him. He’s definitely a bright spot in the midst of all the crazy.

Can’t wait to share more of all these stories with you, it’s just going to take awhile to get it all typed out. Thanks for reading and liking and sharing. Y’all go out there and have a kick ass day.

Blue Sparrow Updates

Whew! It’s hard to believe I posted my first post on April 1st of this year. What a crazy ride it’s already been! I was so honored to be asked by FW Weekly to write a blog for them after Eric Griffey had seen just two of my post. He probably deeply regrets that decision now! To see my latest blog post with the FW Weekly, click here. And thank you so much Eric for putting up with me!

I had a gorgeous logo designed by Marcie Finney Designs, who is also the owner of Mustard Seed Jewelry, which I am also happy to offer on my blog.

And having said that… Josh over at Made In Fort Worth is working diligently at giving The Blue Sparrow Blog a make over, and very soon it will be very easy to purchase Mustard Seed Jewelry from this site!

And finally… the last member of the team came on today. Kristen Ballard with FWemedia. I am so looking forward to working with her. Please, please PLEASE do me a solid and sign up to receive my blog via email. Simply get on your computer {it won’t work from your phone} and sign up to follow my blog via email. This not only helps me, but it will help you be pre-registered for giveaways, and who doesn’t love FREE, yes I said FREE stuff. You still have time to sign up for tomorrow’s giveaway.

#doitnow #pleaseandthankyou

 

When You’re On a Roll…

Keep rolling, right? In the past week I have managed to piss off, pretty much everyone who is important in my life. I know, I know… I should feel terrible, but it’s my biggest accomplishment lately so I figured I’d brag about it. And tell you why the cops might be called on me tonight by my oldest.

I pick up Luke and we are on our way to get Cole and for some bizarre reason he ask me what he should do if he could not wake me up. Which is a freaky question to randomly be asked by Luke… So I do my parenting best, and tell him to find my phone and dial 911, and then the police will come, but that he needs to make sure he knows the address, does he remember mommy’s new address, and at this point I see Luke get a little stressed out. So I try to reassure him…

“Don’t worry, if that does happen, now you know exactly what to do and the police and firewomen would come and save mommy and you would be a hero, so don’t worry. You’d help mommy and I’d be fine.”

Luke’s facial expression goes from worried too light bulb in point zero one seconds.

“You mean, if I can’t wake you up, and I have to call the police, and they have to come to our house, I will be a hero?!”

Me, making the mistake of thinking I had done a good job, overly reassuringly say, “YES!!!!”

To which Luke says… “So mom, a hero would get a good reward huh?”

My facial expression changes from one of patting myself on the back to one of extreme worry…  “Ummm….. Yes.”

“Especially if that hero were to save your life….?”

I had to cut him off. I knew exactly where this was going.

“Luke, so help me… If you whisper in my ear and I do not wake up in the middle of the night and you call the cops, you do NOT get a reward. Is that clear?”

Luke looks about as freaked out as a kid can look.

“Oh my gosh mom, I was totally not thinking that. I really wasn’t. How did you do that? Can mom’s really read minds? Oh wow.”

I’m now concerned he’s going to test that theory too. And all I want tonight is a decent nights sleep. Is that too much to ask?

To all that I have pissed off in the last week, or hell, if I have ever pissed you off, I would just like you to know… I’m sorry. And by the way that color looks fantastic on you, but any color would probably look good on you since you have lost so much weight, not that you had any to lose. Be careful or someone is going to call you anorexic. And you know, you are just to young and youthful looking to be anorexic. I hope you have a fabulous day.

Sticks and Stones

So until right now, I totally thought that saying was “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.” Which never made sense. And is totally stupid. So, a few minutes ago, I googled it to find out that the poem actually says, “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can also hurt me.” Well fuck me. I learned that a little too late.

I came into this world as a total bitch. I was born on Thanksgiving in 1976. My mother loves to tell the story of how I ruined her Thanksgiving dinner. Her favorite meal. My grandmother, God rest her soul, use to love to tell the story of how right after I was born the nurses were weighing me and what not, and I flipped over on my stomach (clearly also an over achiever at birth) and gave everyone in the room a go-to-hell look.

Around third grade I broke and I became a Republican and a people pleaser. I was eight, let’s not pass judgement, okay? I people-pleased my way into my 30’s. And then I stopped. Sort of. One of my friends had really pissed me off, and I had just had it. I’d never stood up to this girl. I called her, and I say, “Look, I’m sure we are not going to be friends after this conversation, but I have about 487 problems with you and we are going to start with one and I am going to work my way through.” To her great credit, she listened to all 842 reasons (I thought of more reasons as I bawled her out). I mean, I guess she could have put the phone down and gone shopping, but I’m going to go with the fact that she actually listened.

After my tirade she admitted her flaws and we actually became much much closer. I love that girl.

That, however, was not a great lesson for me. Basically I learned that if I told someone to go fuck themselves, they’d like me better. That plus the ‘sticks and stones’ poem to back me up… And I was fearless.

I lost my shit in the Denver airport when an older gentleman aggressively rolled his suitcase over my foot to cut in line. I told him he was a piece of shit and that he would NOT be getting on the airplane in front of me. Naturally he was sitting in the seat next to me. And naturally I immediately put my arm on his arm rest and even if my arm went numb from gripping that arm rest, so help me God, I was not moving my arm. My stubborn gene is actually my strongest gene. Which explains Luke, my seven year old. My mom could not stop laughing and I’m pretty sure she peed in her pants. Actually… I moved my arm 30 minutes into the plane ride when he apologized and offered to buy me a drink. I ordered four and smiled sweetly at him.

Another time we were checking out in Napa and yet another male idiot pissed me off. There was a HUGE line to check out. My BFF and I were standing in said line while her husband and my then husband talked (probably about how they had had too much together time with their wives) and this dumbass walks in front of all of us to the “Express Checkout for Preferred Guest” and I was all, “Oh HELL NO.”

I walked up and tapped him on the back and said, “Um, excuse me, did you see this huge line? Or are you just blind and stupid?”

He replied by saying he was a Preferred Guest. I shook my head.

“You are a fucking moron. We’re all Preferred Guest. That’s why they gave us that stupid speech when we walked in and a bottle of wine. I’m sure you were too drunk or just stupid to remember that, but get to the back of the line JackAss.”

Seven months later my friends, God bless their souls, and I, were planning a baby shower for my BFF because she got wasted and had sex with her husband in Napa. Their were five of us throwing the shower and we had divided into two groups. Three against two. And one of the ones I was against was, like, one of my best friends. unfortunately she just mentioned having a shower some place I didn’t agree with and I said something along the lines of… I’m sorry, but no one wants to eat salmon and egg salad at 10:30 on a Saturday morning. And for the love of God, we’re having alcohol. It’s a BABY shower. You have to have alcohol at a baby shower. For one, everyone is either A) Hungover B) Had an abortion and we are making them feel guilty C) Desperately wants a baby and can’t get pregnant or D) Have NO desire to EVER have a baby and need alcohol to get through the event. Except I was way harsher in my dissertation. I also said that only a fucking moron would spend $5 A PIECE for a “gift” to give people who came. The gift is alcohol. DUH.

The girl, my good friend, and I, didn’t really speak for two years after that shower. She emailed me and said that no one had ever spoken to her like that, much less a friend, and she went on to make more valid points… I would like to report she and I are also friends now, and I love her to death. She is hilarious. And the best mom. And thin and gorgeous of course. Even though her sister does have better hair… That Becky…

But, while I have you on the subject of showers, may I purpose something? Never, ever, EVER open gifts at the event. No one cares. And that one person that does care, can go fuck themselves and walk around Buy Buy Baby. You’ll get the gist. You’re probably part of Group C anyway, and no one needs to see you cry while the girl that shouldn’t have alcohol opens pacifiers.

After all of that, I still never googled the poem. I just thought, if you can’t handle some mamby pamby words, you are a fucking pussy.

Then on Friday, my beloved nanny’s last day, when I was already quite emotional and into my Champs, my fiance and I had a fight. He said things, and then he got to hear a real diatribe. I woke up Saturday still licking my wounds and just started attacking again.

Turns out, there are some things you cannot take back. Words are extremely hurtful. And I must learn to use mine better. And not out of anger. Gee, I’m almost 40. Glad I’m picking up that kindergarten lesson now. Wonder what else I will learn this year? Endless possibilities.