Breaking the cycle

I wrote a post not so long about the people we meet, the people who give us hope.  The people that we meet them and instantly we feel like every day is filled with something better.

But then there are those those people who take away all of our hope.  The people that say one word, and instantly our hearts are on the ground, and everything within us deflates.

These people become such important fixtures in our lives.  They stick around for as long as we allow them, we obsess over their every action and every word they speak to us.  We want so badly for them to be the people that give us hope, but each time, they let us down.

We fixate on these people so much that in our minds, they become these grandiose characters. We feel like they are part of our lives, but when you sit down and dissect all the little things that make you who you are, they are just people who wandered into the picture. Their thoughts of us are just thoughts, they are not a part of us.

How do we get rid of them?  People that we want so badly to fill our hearts with something beautiful, with everything that makes us feel content.

They are not the people that we need.  Say it out loud.  It hurts.  It hurts to say that this enigma cannot be part of my life anymore.  But that is what it is.


I love my cat

I could literally leave this post at just that.  I love my cat, she’s better than all pets on earth, no arguing.

On Christmas Day 2014, I decided that I wanted to spend the next day at shelters, just looking at cats (THIS IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA). I didn’t plan on adopting one that day (ha!).

Our first stop was a smaller shelter about 20 miles away.  I had looked online at the cats they had rescued, and there was an adorable little orange kitten that I wanted to name Henry or Alfred.  My sister’s attention was drawn to a little gray fluffball named Haddie.

The second I got there I bee lined for the little orange cat.  He was asleep, and had 0 interest in me.  I wandered over to where my sister was playing with the little gray cat. She immediately started licking my hand.  I asked if we could take her out of the cage as she was basically trying to break out at that point.

We took her into a playroom and she immediately climbed on my shirt and started licking my face.  She was mine.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to adopt her that day.  My landlord hadn’t called back to confirm that I was permitted to have a pet in her house.  I was told I could come back the next morning and adopt her then.

The shelter opened at noon the next day, and I was in the parking lot waiting at 11:45.  My landlord never called.  I left her six voicemails.  The shelter saw my desperation as a pesky four year started inching closer to her cage.  They said they would move forward as long as my landlord called by the end of the day.  I packed her up that night and made the drive back to DC from Pennsylvania with my little sidekick by my side.

Until that day, I didn’t know what it meant to have something to look forward to when I got home.  No matter how bad my day was, I knew that I would have my adorable little gray kitty waiting to snuggle and give kisses as soon as I got home.  To be honest, I wasn’t even sure that I could love a living thing that much.  Trouble sleeping?  No problem, she turns herself into big spoon and puts her paws on your back to keep you relaxed.

Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for this little snuggle monster that has been, by far, the biggest blessing I’ve ever had in my life.



The Truth About Invincibility

Invincibility as I used to think, was reserved for people like Captain Planet and Meredith Grey.

As we age, our  tastes change, and the definitions we had once assigned to people, places, and things begin to take on a new meaning.

Invincibility is working an eleven hour day and still doing two loads of laundry that evening.

Invincibility is staying up until 11 PM helping your daughter with her homework despite not truly knowing if the answers are correct.

Invincibility is loving a living thing so much that even the though of lising him or her is too much.

Invincibility is knowing how good that donut would be but refusing it anyway.

Invincibility is watching a loved one slip away from you and having zero control to stop it.

Invincibility is having your heart broken and packing your bags and going to Aruba to heal.

Invincibility is saying “screw it” and not leaving your couch or a day because you finally needed a break.

Invincibility is choosing to work with your demons, instead of focusing all of your time trying to overcome them.

Invincibility is looking someone in the eye and not accepting what they define you as, but how you define yourself.

The Perils of Being a Millennial

Let me preface this by I am not a single female and that I try really hard not to read those corny Facebook posts about why being a single mom is so hard or how the nanny killed a newborn by not paying attention to it (please do not waste your time reading those articles because you will wish you had lit you eyeballs on fire after).

Yet of course today I clicked on one that was about how being married is so incredibly difficult. There’s projects on the house to work on, there are disagreements, there are days of hatred between significant others.  It IS hard.

My problem with the post was it shamed women that wanted to be married and have children because they are looking for it for the wrong reasons, the dress, the adorable baby, etc.


“Then stop reading”.  But I can’t.  It’s like a Kate Spade surprise sale sending you emails every six hours reminding you that everything is 75% off.

We shame people.  We analyze everything thing we do and decide to write posts about.

Yes you should be married, no you should be single, you should be a stay at home mom, working mothers give their kids more value, these people are liberal snowflakes, these people are white supremacists.

We can’t take it anymore!  Someone make it stop!  We’re overloaded with opinions every single day, day in and day out and we cannot possible care anymore.  But we’re taught that technology=power, and so we keep getting sucked in, reading bigoted comment after bigoted comment.

I am sad.  Truly sad that we feed into this non stop, judgmental cluster fuck every day.  And that I continue to read them.

2017 Part 2

I’ve always been one of those annoying New Year’s resolution skeptics who says “why put it off until the first of the year if you can start today”.

Yes, I’m sorry, I know how every time someone says that to you, you have to fight back the urge to shake your finger in their face and tell them to buzz off.

As my apology, I’ve made a few “resolutions” this year.

  1. Blog more. As referred to in “A Blog a Day Keeps the Doctor Away” if you want more of an explanation.
  2. Drink more water.  This is literally my goal every year.  At least once a year I feel as if my entire body is going to shrivel up and I’ll just become a giant prune. So, water.
  3. Work LESS. I almost wrote “Work Smarter”, but no, I actually just want to do less work. My work is my life. LITERALLY MY LIFE, HOW SAD IS THAT.  I need more tacos, sand, mountains, and off brand vodka in my life.
  4. Snuggle my cat more. If that is even possible.

Simple, but attainable.

Why don’t we paint a pretty picture

I really need to stop skipping months on here.  It’s so difficult when I don’t get home till 9 pm from work/gym.

Note to self: get better about blogging on a stationary bike (great post-workout cool down by the way, especially if you have hip problems like me).

Enough about my physical issues though.  I want to paint a pretty story for you.

I have been 5’10 since I was 13.  Yes you heard that correctly, THIRTEEN.  In high school, in the early years especially, you are painted as a freak.  You are called giraffe, jolly green giant, talk drink of water, and you are asked once a week why you won’t play basketball.  Boys are too self conscious to even entertain the thought that you could be attractive, and you are thus seen as a leper for the following four years.  That was my life in high school.

So on to college.  In college, the first boy that thought I was pretty seemed like a miracle to me.  Was I actually attractive all this time?!  My friends used to say that but I used to spend nights alone crying because it couldn’t be true. I finally met boys, and I learned to not lean over to be shorter in pictures, and that yes it was okay to wear heels and be 6’1 and introduce myself as Giselle.

That just made it sound easy.  Trust me, it wasn’t.  Everyone has body issues, EVERYONE (just the other day I decided I wanted a nose job again).  But it’s incredibly hard when your issue is with everything that you are physically.  Yeah, maybe I was skinny, but I still TOWERED over all of my other female friends.  I walked around with my shoulders hunched for years.

Finally in college, I dated someone who was 5’8.  This was unheard of for me.  And guess what?  He LOVED the fact that I was taller than him.  He finally gave me the confidence to wear heels whenever I wanted.  I didn’t need to feel like crying anymore because all of my friends looked cute and I had to wear flats.  In reality, he was a terrible person in 16 other ways, but the one thing he gave me was the ability to finally just live in my own skin.

These days, I’ve dated people are 5’8 and I’ve dated people who are 6’5.  Most have turned out to be shitty people, but all truly liked me, my height included.  I am lucky, I love myself, and while my body hates all the pizza and vodka I consume on the weekend, I love it too.

So HOW MUCH DID I WANT TO HURT SOMEONE, when I’m standing amongst a group of friends, and I hear a guy, a friend of a friend, telling someone else that I was disgusting.  Yes, I lost a bet and was drinking a Long Island, but that was not the reason.  This tall, semi-good looking man, was saying I was completely unattractive because I was tall.  He asked his friend why on earth would I wear heels, knowing that no man would ever be attracted to me.

I did not punch him in the face.

I realized that I was six worlds above him, but more so, how disappointing it is that men still think they have the right to “deem” you attractive or not.  Like they get to decide your self esteem.  They think that because they don’t think I’m beautiful, no one else, including myself, can think I am either.

Well guess what, I THINK I’M A SOLID 9.

I’m successful, intelligent, friendly, somewhat funny, sarcastic, and attractive.  GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF.

Thanks….really needed to get that out.  Also, I have a twitter…@thedcbrunette.