Category Archives: Just Blogging

Happy 50th Birthday to Me!

I am 50 years old today and I can’t stop thinking about the day I turned 49.

Last year on my birthday, everything had gone well until I was on my way out to dinner with my family. As we were leaving our apartment building, I stopped to check the mail and found what appeared to be a birthday card. The envelope was addressed in an unfamiliar hand and bore no return address. This peaked my curiosity, so I opened it right away.

Inside was a beautiful birthday card from someone who had called me her best friend for years and claimed to love me. Printed on the card itself, was a lovely message that made me smile. Inside the card was a two-page, scathing letter which basically outlined what a terrible friend, mother, and person I am, characterized me as generally dishonest and told me that our friendship was over. Ironically, this was in response to a very honest attempt on my part to establish some personal boundaries and space.

I could have written back with a scathing letter of my own, outlining her every passive-aggressive, judgmental statement, as well as her convoluted train of logic, but I ultimately decided that it wouldn’t make any difference because she seemed desperate to convince herself that she is right and pure and perfectly forthcoming in every way and that I am wrong, phony, and generally dishonest.

As part of her character assassination on me, she pointed out that there had been a few deeply personal things that I had only revealed to her when I found myself at a fork in the road, having to choose between telling her or ending our friendship. Despite the fact that I had chosen to reveal some very painful events from my past rather than walk away from her; things that I felt embarrassed or ashamed of and feared might be deal-breakers that could cost me my best friend, even that was used against me in a flailing attempt to cast me as a bad person and friend.

I believe that in any relationship, having boundaries is a good and healthy thing. Having a “best friend” does not mean that I must forfeit my own personal space, or that I have to report every minute detail of my life and the lives of my husband and son, or that I am not entitled to set appropriate boundaries. Mike — my husband — and I don’t even require that of each other; we respect one another’s boundaries and allow each other a private zone.

Wanting or needing personal space, reasonable boundaries, and a little privacy for myself and my family does NOT equate to dishonesty. Anyone who thinks that it does is far too controlling for my comfort, so I suppose getting dumped wasn’t a complete loss, even if it was cunningly orchestrated so as to blindside me on my birthday.

But who does that? Who does that to their “best friend”, and then accuses that friend of being the bad one?

Maybe someone who is so convinced of her own righteousness and moral superiority that she feels justified in putting everyone she knows under her own personal microscope of analysis and scrutiny? Someone who feels entitled to know the details of every move her friends make, and to judge and critique them and their family members, including their children? Someone who is so utterly convinced of what she would do in a given situation despite having absolutely no first-hand experience or frame of reference on which to base her ill-informed, sanctimonious convictions? Or perhaps someone who obsessively hyper-focuses on other people’s mistakes and shortcomings to avoid having to take an honest look in the mirror and ask herself why her “best friend” might not be comfortable telling her certain things or what her own role in that might be? Someone who would choose to dump her “best friend” on her birthday rather than take responsibility for her own shitty behavior, or even admit that just maybe there’s the teeniest possibility that perhaps she might not be right about every goddamned thing?

I don’t know what kind of person does that, but I do know that it’s not the kind of person I need or want in my life.

I don’t need “friends” who look down on me for choosing my own path instead of the one they think I should follow. I don’t need “friends” who feel entitled to intrude on my marriage or my parenting. I don’t need “friends” who think that helping me through hard times means that, in return, I should quietly tolerate abuse, and that I’m ungrateful if I don’t. I don’t need “friends” who would invite someone into their home, secretly hoping that they won’t accept, just so that said “friend” can appear kind and charitable without having to actually do anything — and then treat their guests like a burden when they do accept. I don’t need “friends” who think that my need for boundaries equates to dishonesty, or that wanting some privacy must mean that I’m hiding something sinister. Because maybe all that means is that I’d like to have one molecule of my life that goes unexamined by said “friend”.

Being judged 24 hours a day is exhausting, suffocating, and demoralizing, especially when the scrutiny comes from someone who refuses to examine herself and admit when she’s been a jerk or hurt someone, much less apologize for it! When someone you love or call your friend lets you know that you’ve hurt them, that is not the time to dig your heels in, insist that you did nothing wrong and that your friend’s feelings are somehow incorrect. Unless, of course, saving face is such a priority that you’re willing to resort to emotional abuse and manipulation to do so, in which case, don’t let the door hit you in the ass.

It’s odd to me how those who claim some level of “enlightenment” often seem to possess very little self-awareness. They even seem to think that their personal tastes and preference are objectively superior or “correct”, allowing absolutely no room for individuality in their “friends” and associates.

A few points in closing:

1.) Fed Up and Finished had nothing to do with you or our friendship. I was clearing out a bunch of old drafts which I had always password protected so that I didn’t accidentally publish rough drafts and notes. Fed Up and Finished was a very old draft from ’08 or ’09 that I meant to delete but hit “publish” by mistake. I had food on the stove and laundry in the dryer, so I didn’t notice right away which is why it remained on my Home page for a few hours. But, hey… Great job not jumping to the worst possible conclusion. Again. You could have given me the benefit of the doubt, but you chose to judge me in the worst possible light. Again. Or, I don’t know… Maybe you were just looking for an excuse to end our friendship and jumped at the first thing that came along that you could rationalize in a way that let you off the hook while, yet again, making me the “bad guy” and allowing you to maintain your pose of superiority. It’s not like you’ve always been perfectly forthcoming with your friends and family regarding how you really feel about them, and it fits your modus operandi, so it’s plausible.

2.) I sent your keys back to you along with my letter to spare you the awkwardness of having to make up a lie to get them back like you did the last time we had a serious disagreement — instead of being forthcoming about the real reason which was that you can’t handle hearing anything about yourself which suggests that you might be less than fucking perfect.

3.) Anytime you would like to compare notes on who between us is the least forthcoming, or whose family members treat other people the worst versus who is the kindest and most thoughtful toward others, I welcome it with next year’s salary on the table!

You want unbridled honesty? Careful what you wish for.

Quote of the Day

“When a person tells you that you hurt them, you don’t get to decide that you didn’t.”
Louis C.K.

Now, THAT’S Impressive!

Ignore the “type yes” bit. I hate that stuff but love this meme. It says, in a nutshell, what I’ve been wanting to write about for quite some time.


The Gunited States of Duhmerica

Why isn’t this idiot being charged with involuntary manslaughter?

“Involuntary manslaughter usually refers to an unintentional killing that results from recklessness or criminal negligence […]”

How is this not an unintentional killing resulting from recklessness?”

“William reached back to get the shell casing out of the boy’s shirt with the hand that his .22 caliber handgun was in and in doing so he pulled the trigger, shooting his son in his jugular vein.” CNN Interview

That’s pretty damn reckless if you ask me. I have never owned a gun in my life, and even I know better than to reach down someone’s shirt (or even in someone’s general direction!) with the same hand I’m using to hold a gun!

What. The. Fuck?!


My Way

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way
I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way

My Way

And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way
Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way
Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the words he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way


Yes, it was my way



My thoughts exactly!

Empowering Myself

I stopped identifying as a feminist years ago because I was tired of having my lived experiences dismissed by other feminists when said experiences didn’t fit their narrative or ideology.

I was tired of having other women presume to know my mind better than I do, by accusing me of having “internalized misogyny” and setting feminism back “by decades” because I chose to stay home and raise my son.

I was tired of being called an “MRA type”, among other things, for pointing out that letting them dictate how other women should think, speak, act, and live their lives, is not an improvement over men doing it; that feminism is supposed to be, at least in part, about empowering women to choose our own paths in life — not just switching from being controlled by men to being controlled by other feminists.

I was tired of having it made clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that I am not ‘one of them’ and will never be represented by them because, ironically, they could never seem to find the perfect sized box to keep me in.

And I’ve been better off and much happier since I stopped trying to live like a feminist, and just started living. I empowered myself by understanding that, despite what feminists would have me believe, I am not utterly helpless without them.

Family of Friends

You’ll find there’s a family of friends living here,
A small group of minds, and of hearts;
With some of us clever and some of us not,
At times you can’t tell us apart.

There’s one who is cranky, and one who is shy,
And one who is really uncouth;
And just when you think you’ve discovered who’s who,
You’ll really uncover the truth.

The truth that we’re all just a little of each,
A group of imperfects are we
And sometimes I might criticize them to you,
But don’t ever knock them to me.

‘Cause the one thing that ties us together for life-
no matter how far we’re apart,
Is love for each other, a family of friends
A small group of minds, and of hearts.

Judy Blume

Aujourd’hui, nous sommes tous français

On September 12, 2001, the French newspaper Le Monde proclaimed, “Today we are all Americans”. Following the terrorist attacks in Paris yesterday, this American proudly proclaims:

Today I am French

Recurring Dreams

I have two recurring dreams. Or, to be more precise, two different dreams with a recurring theme. I’ve been having them for close to two decades. I wonder why that is.

I don’t believe all the woo about my inner self talking to my outer self, etc. I’m not big on dream interpretation either, because everything I’ve read about it tries to convert specific things into specific meanings for everyone, and I don’t think that’s possible. We don’t all enjoy or fear the same things, for instance, so how can my dreams mean the same thing for everyone? That’s not to say, of course, that dream interpretation can’t be fun!

Anyway, I’m just writing about this because I feel like it. Not because I think it means anything, although I do find it interesting.

In one of the dreams, I’m drowning and frantic, I can’t make my way to the surface, although I never know why. There never seems to be anyone else there; no one holding me under, nothing weighting me down: I’m just fighting with the water, which is always perfectly clear or pale blue like water reflecting the blue paint in a swimming pool. I struggle for several minutes until my lungs feel like they’ll explode if they don’t get air.

Finally, I make the conscious decision to just breathe. I’m scared because I know it will likely be the death of me, so I inhale slowly through my mouth and nose simultaneously. The water doesn’t kill me. It doesn’t even knock me out. I can breathe under water! Sometimes I start swimming and find that I love it under there, where ever “there” is. Most of the time, though, I wake up with a gasp and my heart racing, the way it might if I had actually experienced a similar ordeal.

The other dream is less detailed. I’m walking along someplace when suddenly I see money on the ground. It might be a twenty, a fifty or a hundred. I bend down to pick it up and notice another a few feet away. I step over to get the second bill and notice several others. I start gathering them and shoving them into my pockets, but the more money I gather, the more I notice laying on the ground.

Suddenly, I’m stuffing wads of cash into a bag which is usually about the size of a regular kitchen trash bag. I don’t know where the bag comes from, but I never wonder in the dream. I just keep stuffing and stuffing twenties, fifties, hundreds. They keep multiplying before my eyes and I soon realize that I’ll never be able to fit them all into the bag. I decide to keep filling the bag until it reaches full capacity which it never does.

The dream ends or I wake up disappointed.

I have one or both of these dreams about three or four times per month. Weird, huh?

Posted by Lottie — Copyright © 2008 Rambling On