#BlogTagYouAreIt ‘Sometimes I Wish…’

One of the blogging groups I am in is having a blog hop, we are calling it “Blog Tag…You’re It.” For those of you who don’t know what a blog hop is, let me explain. It is several different bloggers blogging on their own blog all about the same topic but done in their own unique ways. Phew! Say that 3 times fast. LOL This specific hop will feature 28 bloggers from around the globe. The essence of what World Wide Web stands for if you ask me. We each will have our own day to post about the topic ‘Sometimes I Wish…’ During this time, one blogger thanks the previous blogger for the introduction to their post and then writes a mini introduction for the blogger who follows them.

So here goes…

A very big thank you to Brenda, who writes at Passionate Pusuits. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you and sharing the  blogosphere world with you. Here’s to many more blog hops, posts, and getting to know a variety of bloggers inside and outside the group. You can click here to see her blog hop post on this subject.

Now for the introduction I am to give for our next blogger in line:

Say hello to Sili, who writes at My Mamihood. She writes about her life and the non-stop misadventures of her “Frog Princess”, which is the adorable nickname she uses for her young daughter.

Please take some time (after finishing my post of course) to visit both of these ladies.

Sometimes I Wish…

For somebody, aka me, to publicly acknowledge my wishes, I would first have to believe in them. But, I don’t believe in wishes or wishing for that matter. However, I did…once; a very long time ago when I was an impressionable youngster, back before I knew any better, back before the reality of what my life was hit me like a ton of bricks. It was during a time when wishes and dreams were what young children would thrive on, that is, until they realized either as teenagers or adults that wishes just don’t come true, no matter how much you wish on them or pray for them, beg, scream, plead, cry, or fuss about them, no matter how many times the people at Disney tell you they do… They just don’t come true!

I was approximately 5-years-old when I would lay in bed and stare at the night sky, wishing on the bright stars that illuminated my room. I was just as much a raging insomniac back then as I am now. (No doubt due to the volatile lifestyle I lived from a super-young age.) I even tossed several wishes to the man in the moon for good measure, then patiently awaited the entire night for somebody/anybody to magically swoop in and rescue me. I have yet to stop staring at the night sky (or learned how to fall asleep when the rest of the world does) but, I have stopped sending wishes out there, and I have most certainly stopped waiting for someone to ride in on their white horse and rescue me.

  • I wish my daddy and mommy didn’t fight so much.
  • I wish my daddy loved me.
  • I wish that “they” hadn’t touched me like that.
  • I wish those touching’s would stop happening.
  • I wish I could stay out of the principal’s office for fighting.
  • I wish people would just leave me alone.
  • I wish people would stop touching me. Why do they keep touching me?
  • I wish my mommy would come and pick me up more often.
  • I wish I could play outside with the other kids and not have to be in bed while the sun is still out.
  • I wish I didn’t have to sit in the corner so long every day.
  • I wish my step-mom loved me.
  • I wish I wasn’t hated so much by my daddy and step-mom.
  • I wish my mommy hadn’t moved so far away. Does she hate me now too?
  • I wish I didn’t have to sit behind furniture when we visited with family and friends.
  • I wish I could play with my cousins.
  • I wish my grandma didn’t get drunk and push my grandfather into the bookcase.
  • I wish my daddy didn’t get drunk and pass out in the truck.
  • I wish I didn’t know about alcoholism and its effects.
  • I wish my step-mom didn’t take out her insecurities about my mommy on me.
  • I wish my daddy would stop talking bad about my mommy.
  • I wish my step-mom didn’t talk badly about my mommy.
  • I wish I wasn’t talked about badly to my face.
  • I wish I could be loved like my little sister.
  • I wish my daddy didn’t move us so far away when my mommy moved back to town.
  • I wish I could see my baby brother every day.
  • I wish I didn’t have to see a school counselor for “my problems.”
  • I wish my step-mom didn’t take away things my mommy and grandma bought for me.
  • I wish I didn’t cry so hard every time I came back home to my daddy’s house.
  • I wish I didn’t get punished for vomiting after I cried so hard.
  • I wish I didn’t know what soap tastes like.
  • I wish my daddy and step-mom didn’t use a thick wooden paddle with holes drilled in it on me.
  • I wish I could sit down.
  • I wish I didn’t have to show the friend of the court my butt and all the still purple welts that hadn’t yet gone away after several weeks.
  • I wish somebody would help me.
  • I wish somebody would listen.
  • I wish the counselor would stop asking other types of social workers, guidance people, therapists, and groups to talk to me. Every time they give me a card or tell me how my life should be I am punished more severely.
  • I wish my school counselor didn’t call my step-mom and tell her everything I had confided in her.
  • I wish I didn’t get punished so much.
  • I wish I could go to friends’ houses and not always be grounded.
  • I wish I had friends who I could talk to.
  • I wish my “big sisters” in the sister program would do more with me.
  • I wish my “big sister” didn’t move away.
  • I wish I didn’t cry myself to sleep every night.
  • I wish I could fall asleep.
  • I wish I could stay asleep.
  • I wish I didn’t hear and see things in the dark.
  • I wish I wasn’t called crazy for seeing dead people.
  • I wish my step-mom didn’t force me to stand in a red ant hill while she yelled at me.
  • I wish the pain would go away.
  • I wish my grandfather who protected me as best as he could didn’t die.
  • I wish I died.
  • I wish I didn’t know what pain is.
  • I wish I didn’t bleed all over my clothes.
  • I wish my belongings didn’t get take away.
  • I wish someone would stand up for me.
  • I wish someone would save me.
  • I wish my sister would stop doing things that I get punished for.
  • I wish I didn’t have to come home.
  • I wish I didn’t go to school.
  • I wish I didn’t live in a small town.
  • I wish people would understand me.
  • I wish they’d all stop making fun of me.
  • I wish I could have long hair.
  • I wish I could wear new girl’s clothes.
  • I wish I wasn’t such a disappointment.
  • I wish I knew what I did wrong.
  • I wish I knew why I was born.
  • I wish I were never born.
  • I wish my mommy would come and pick us up on her weeks.
  • I wish my daddy didn’t tell me he doesn’t think I am his.
  • I wish he’d stop throwing things at my head.
  • I wish he’d stop hitting me.
  • I wish they’d stop touching me.
  • I wish I could get out of here.
  • I wish I had somewhere to go.
  • I wish someone would see the truth.
  • I wish they’d stop lying and calling me the liar.
  • I wish I wasn’t “a good for nothing whore, like your mother.”
  • I wish I knew what a whore was.
  • I wish they’d stop humiliating me.
  • I wish they’d stop degrading me.
  • I wish they’d stop strip searching me.
  • I WISH THEY’D STOP TOUCHING ME!
  • I wish I had money.
  • I wish my money from my job would be mine.
  • I wish I didn’t have to drive such an ugly car.
  • I wish I could drive when I wanted to.
  • I wish I didn’t have to go to the vocational school they chose.
  • I wish I didn’t have to be what they wanted.
  • I wish I knew how to make it all stop.
  • I wish my mind could rest.
  • I wish I could concentrate.
  • I wish I wasn’t scared.
  • I wish there was an end in sight.
  • I wish I had a better life.
  • I wish I could run away and never come back.
  • I wish they’d just finish me off and kill me once and for all already.
  • I wish someone else would stand up for me besides just me alone.
  • I wish they’d stop pretending that they are good and decent people.
  • I wish I didn’t have to send mean letters to my mom on behalf of my daddy and step-mom’s feelings.
  • I wish I didn’t have to have someone read my letters before I could read them.
  • I wish I didn’t have to start another diary again and again and again because my step-mom reads it and can’t face the truth so she takes it away and rips them up.
  • I wish I didn’t have gifts other people gave me taken away and given to my sister or thrown away.
  • I wish I didn’t have to be responsible.
  • I wish I didn’t have to be the oldest.
  • I wish my daddy didn’t spank me so hard that I flew from the living room into the kitchen.
  • I wish I could be a child.
  • I wish I didn’t have to stand in the corner for hours on end with my arms straight in the air.
  • I wish I knew how to get to my mommy’s house when daddy yelled and told me “if you want your mother walk to her house.”
  • I wish I didn’t get left on the front porch in the trailer park at 5 years old all by myself while my daddy and step-mom and sister went to visit with friends, because I didn’t know the way to mommy’s house.
  • I wish I could remember what my real name is. I haven’t heard it in so long.
  • I wish my life wasn’t so dysfunctional.
  • I wish there were no more secrets.
  • I wish I knew what love is.
  • I wish I knew what it feels like to be unconditionally loved.
  • I wish I were someone else, anyone but me.
  • I wish I could forget.
  • I wish I wasn’t permanently scarred and disfigured.
  • I wish I didn’t torture myself as much as they torture me.
  • I wish they’d stop forcing me to kiss and hug them good night and stop forcing me to tell them I love them after everything they did that day.
  • I wish I could stop hurting.
  • I wish there was a God.
  • I wish I didn’t live in Hell.
  • I wish someone could see what is happening.
  • I wish I could have chosen to give away my virginity.
  • I wish an apology was enough.
  • I wish I wasn’t “troubled.”
  • I wish I could stop crying.
  • I wish I could forgive.
  • I wish I understood why they say they forgive but keep bringing old things up.
  • I wish they’d get a different punching bag.
  • I wish it would end.
  • I wish I were intelligent.
  • I wish those who weren’t there would stop acting like they know.
  • I wish I could forget as easily as they all do.
  • I wish they didn’t control me.
  • I wish I could be me.
  • I wish being myself was enough.
  • I wish I were free.
  • I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish…
  • I wish I didn’t need to wish anymore…

14 years’ worth of child wishes and countless more things that had been wished and were never fulfilled, never answered, never my salvation. Star wishes, birthday wishes, prayers to God, pleas to anyone who had the power to do something… all fell on deaf ears and ignored by blind eyes.  A child who wished for death because it was the only way that she knew of, that would make it all end. A child who cut her wrists at 12-years-old because she didn’t know how she was going to go on after the death of her grandfather, her rock, her only love. The only one who could see the truth, her truth. A child who clearly grew up long before a child should ever have to.

It would be another 16 years after her 14 year sentence in Hell, before that child/adult would figure out that making wishes, dreaming, praying, and asking for help were all an enormous waste of her  time. One thing she had learned all to well, was that nobody could undo what had been done and even if they could nobody would be willing to switch places with her and take on what she had.

Those 16 additional years they had stolen from her, enslaving her within her own mind. When she wasn’t trying to shield herself and her children from their newest ongoing attacks via telephone, she was visualizing moment after moment in her head, replaying them in her dreams, like a never-ending horror movie, secretly hoping for a different ending, a happy ending. Trying to fill in the cracks whilst new ones were continuously added. Attempting to raise her two children differently than she had been raised, giving them everything she never had. Protecting her children from the vicious spiteful words that the so-called family were trying to pass down to them as if it were the family Bible. Hoping that the man she married who held a strong character resemblance to her father, would not pick up where her father and step-mom left off and continue to violate her tortured and nearly broken spirit. Several times in her life, wishes could have been the way to go, but her mind was so infected by the past she didn’t even consider wishing for her children not to suffer along with their mother. (Or a million other things that the Universe relentlessly pummeled her and her children with.) It never even entered her mind, not because she didn’t believe in wishes anymore (which she didn’t) but, because she was fighting a life vs. death battle inside. Deep inside herself, where there was only going to be one survivor and one alone. Would she come out alive and capable of being a competent mother, wife, human being? Or would she remain trapped inside herself, waiting for that final blow that would finish her off for good?

Then surprisingly without any warning whatsoever, the inconceivable happened and she lost her younger sister to cancer. She was no stranger to death or to cancer for that matter but, losing her sister suddenly did something that no other death could do. It was at that precise moment when the prison door she had been locked behind for most of her life, swung wide open and she walked out of the solitary confinement where she had awaited her death sentence. A light as bright and warm as the sun encased her and she was finally free…free of them, their actions, their words, their evilness, their lies, their prejudices. But wait… she was the one who had allowed them to torture her for over 30 years, even though they had not been a part of her physical life in more than half that time. They only had power over her because she allowed them to have it and use it as they wished. She had allowed the past to be her focus, which held her stagnant in a place where she couldn’t move towards the future let alone appreciate the now. So, she took back the control and freed herself; she freed her past, she freed her mind, she freed her spirit, she freed her future, and she flew away freely with the knowledge and tools that would never allow her to be imprisoned by anyone ever again!

✓ “I wish it would end.”

✓ “I wish I was intelligent.”

✓ “I wish they didn’t control me.”

✓ “I wish I could be me.”

✓ “I wish being myself was enough.”

✓ “I wish I were free.”

✓ “I wish I didn’t need to wish anymore…”

So ok… maybe some times wishes do come true. However, simply wishing for something to happen isn’t going to make it happen. Time, actions, and choices make things happen not the “magical powers” of the wish itself. I don’t need to wish anymore because I’m living in the present. I don’t want to change my past, for if my wishes had come true at that precise moment that I had wished them I wouldn’t be who I am today. I don’t know about you but, I like the person I am today, and I know I will continue to like me even more as time goes by. Something that the young me couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t do.  So thank you for rejecting my wishes so I could be a strong fighter and survivor, outspoken and an activist, a better person than I or anyone else could have dreamed of. Thank you for allowing me to find my path in my own time that ultimately broke the cycle of abuse, violence, alcoholism, blame, inability to grow or move forward, and neglect that plagued my entire family for generations upon generations. Thank you for teaching me lessons that can never be unlearned. All of which allowed me to be here right now telling  showing you… becoming the living proof that anyone can overcome their past and transform into something more than they could have imagined. Wishing is short-sighted, if your wishes came true you wouldn’t learn anything. You wouldn’t be able to keep the knowledge you were taught. You wouldn’t have lived fully. You wouldn’t be able to grow and you most certainly wouldn’t be free. So give your life the time, chance, and education that it needs to grow into something miraculous.

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My Wedding’s Quinceañera

15 years ago (tomorrow), on my then 22nd birthday; my fiancé decided it would be the right time to get married. Clearly 3 years into a relationship that had already produced a daughter, was the perfect time to tie the noose… err I mean the knot.

It’s not like either one of us didn’t want to be married. Hell, we were already living as husband and wife that entire time anyway. It’s just… there were bills to be paid and a child to feed… If you really want to know the truth, we were doing our part in saving the planet by not creating superfluous paper. Sounds funny I know but, eh, it’s the least we could do for our children’s future, right?!

But seriously though, the reason’s we both had; although looking back I’m not so sure it was a “we” thing, were our reason’s and ours alone. Nobody, no matter how important they thought their opinion was, had the right to tell us when we should get married. Of course, that didn’t stop them. 37 years later in my life and those same people still haven’t stopped trying to manipulate and control me and my life. SMH!

Anyway, back to the day at hand… July 17th, my 37th birthday/wedding’s Quinceañera . Aww, I feel like I should throw it a huge party while wearing a bright multi-colored billowing dress and be surrounded by a bunch of drunken people, that may or may not be my family, and they will be gyrating and partying like it’s 1999. Because if there is one thing my anniversary/birthday is lacking, is the extravagant publicly humiliating celebration of leaving behind the innocence of childhood and diving head first off the deep end straight into the abyss of womanhood. *SIGH*

I have yet to figure out what it was that ran through my husband’s head the day he decided to forever taint my birthday with a wedding anniversary. I’m pretty certain that it was the countless bottles of booze that he ingested on the regular, but that is just too obvious an answer to be the correct one. So it must be something more diabolical; like say…I don’t know, the satisfaction he gets from knowing that I will never have another day for the rest of my life that is totally just about me! That sounds a lot more like the evil drunk I have spent my entire adult life with.

Or it could be that he was just trying to be what every woman dreams of… Prince Charming! Oh hell… now I feel bad for calling him names and being angry every single year for the last 15 years.  Way to go Jen, you fucking Romance Nazi!!!

Copyright InJensMind DO NOT COPY OR REPRODUCE July 17, 1997 @Shalimar Wedding Chapel Las Vegas, NV

C’mon Baby Light My Grass On Fire

Google Image

As the 4th of July rapidly approaches, I sit here and reminisce about our country’s Independence Day and the memories I have from when I was a child.

From the age of 8 years old, until I was almost 19; I lived in a very small town in the upper part of Michigan, not to be confused with the Upper Peninsula. I don’t remember doing a lot of things on the national holiday at my father’s house in that small town. Most years, crowds of people would flock to the Ausable River where they could see the little city’s puny fireworks show. As a child any and all fireworks shows look amazing and produce the signature ooh’s and ahh’s.

It wasn’t until I was in my 20’s and living in Las Vegas did I realize the true beauty of huge firework displays. Whereas most of the entire city flocked to ‘The Strip’ and ‘Fremont Street’, I had small children and it was too much of a hassle to battle overly drunken crowds of that magnitude. Fortunately, for my kids and I, there were plenty of places off the beaten path where we could catch those giant, colorful, gloriously booming stimuli in the night sky.

Still, watching those magnificent displays of our nation’s pride and joy couldn’t be trumped by one specific childhood memory I have of long ago.

It was summer, a hot and sticky, worst drought ever, Michigan heat wave. My younger sister Jessica and I were at our mom’s house in Mt. Morris for our summer vacation. Mom was always on the go, so for the most part we spent much of our vacation days at one of her friends’ houses. This particular 4th of July was no different.

She took us over to one of her good friends, Fred’s house. This had to have been maybe my second time at his house. There were many adults and some kids, three being my 2 siblings and I. Of course, the kids were anxious and restless from anticipation. I mean… Really, what kid doesn’t love lively fiery objects that go boom? But, the damn drought had rained on our parade, washing away all of our little hopes and dreams.

A  severe drought that summer had everyone in the city under advisement to not set off fireworks of any kind. The odds of starting a major uncontrollable fire were far too high of a risk warned the city officials.

However, Fred being the greatest and most genial of all the adults, tells us that if he were to strategically place one measly  firework on the picnic table it would be perfectly safe. All of the children delightfully screamed, myself included. Because even though it was technically illegal, it is what the 4th of July is all about, right?  We were free men and women. We were free of the English tyrants. We were independent, free to do as we damn well pleased… FREE TO BREAK THE F**KING RULES MAN!!! *Said in my best Janis Joplin voice* WOOOOOOOOO!!!! Way to go, stick it to the man, Fred.

First Fred placed a little green army tank on the picnic table and lit it. Eyes glued to the table, we waited for it to do something patriotic. Without disappointment, it soon started racing down that table, leaving fiery tread marks behind it. The table had been just as dry as the grass.

Still, that little incident didn’t deter Fred the Magnificent. He grabbed another miniature firework, placed it in the middle of the picnic table, and lit it.

We all stood there staring at it. Then suddenly it started spinning; faster and faster and faster and then…it shot up into the sky.

Blinded by the mid-day sun we lost sight of  it for a moment but, soon it reappeared in all its fantastical glory.

It had landed on a patch of grass in the backyard catching it on fire. Someone scurried to go get the water hose to put it out. The little hellish firework jumped up again. By this time adults and children were screaming but not from delight. In the meantime, the little firework that could, had landed and caught a second spot of the yard on fire.

By the time the hose was retrieved and the flames doused, there were 3 burnt crop circles in Fred’s back yard. Now, I’m sure that Fred and the rest of the adults weren’t happy with that Independence Day fiasco. But for me… BEST 4TH OF JULY MEMORY EVER!!!

Tis The Season

I randomly hum Christmas songs and then just when you think I couldn’t get any more annoying… BAM!!! I break out into a top of my lungs version of ‘Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer’ or the ’12 Days of Christmas’. If you’re lucky, you’ll hear my version of a song as well. Bowels of Holly anyone?

Deck the halls with bowels of holly fa la la la la la la la la!

Am I the only one who does this? Probably not, but I will bet I am the only one who does this year round. Ok, that might be reaching a bit. I definitely know many people who are far too freaking jolly and put my juvenile jubilation to shame. To those overly jovial Christmas crackheads, I come off as Scrooge. Bah-humbug!

Speaking of Scrooge; I don’t miss an opportunity to watch any showing of the 5 million versions. If one is fortunate, I may forget that somewhere on some channel; some form of Scrooge is playing. Lord help my family because I will force them to sit down and enjoy it with me or else. The holidays are about family after all, and I can be very persuasive. LOL The family enjoys watching the shows as much as I do though.

Sunday, we bought our Christmas tree from Home Depot; a tradition that was born when we moved into this much bigger house in 2008. We lived in an apartment complex for too long and although many people enjoy a real tree in their apartments we stuck to plastic. I grew up with a plastic tree and every year we would grow bigger until we were all taller than the top of the tree. It was the livelihood of my redneck childhood.

Our trip to Home Depot was as merry as are all of our family outings. By merry I mean at some point someone is going to shout, someone is going to pout, and someone is most definitely going to be in tears. (Usually, me.) So, my son wanted to get a dark green tree. My husband had his heart set on an 8/9-foot Balsam fir. My daughter had no idea what she wanted. But finally, with the help of the greatest mom on the planet (Umm, that would be me, duh.) the kids picked out a lovely 8-foot White Pine tree. The husband was ecstatic because he had chosen a $65 tree and the White Pine was a sweet $18. *Ding ding ding we have a winner here folks!* I am a little nervous and “You get what you pay for” is dancing like sugar plums in my head but, so far we love it.

Christmas 2011 Copyrighted-InJensMind

My grandparent’s (on my mom’s side) always had a real tree. Well, I think they did, I only visited them every other Christmas so I’m not sure. The funny thing is I have no recollection of many things from my childhood, except for some of the really horrible things. Wow, I need to work on recovering my happy memories. Ah memories.

Anyway, I digress. One year my grandparents had decorated the entire tree in stuffed animals. Grandpa had a morning habit of going up to the local coffee shop in Mt. Morris, MI every morning for coffee. I know what you are thinking and no, I couldn’t have worded that sentence without saying coffee twice. *Tee-hee* Anyway, grandpa would play the claw game (wait for it) and he had this streak of awesome luck where he won loads of stuffed animals. So like any other person in my weird as all get out family, he put them on the tree. It was a child’s dream, I know because I am telling you about it hence, I loved it enough to remember it.

In my children’s lifetime; they have enjoyed such colored trees as green, white, and pink. Yes, one year I made the men in my house endure the tiny tacky pink plastic tabletop tree. My son, now 13 years old, asked me to buy another pink tree this year. I love his enthusiasm but, he will have to wait until next year when I pull off the ultimate Skittles Christmas. Taste the rainbow, bitches! LOL I jest, I jest!

A few years ago, ok more like 9-10 years ago, my husband and I decided to flip our white plastic tree upside down and hang it from the ceiling. Right now as I write this, I am mad that I never took pictures of it. Argh! That was the year I found out that my Scrinch of a husband was really Santa’s number 1 elf in disguise.

Our kids; 4 and 6 years old, sat with me in amazement at their father hanging up every single Christmas decoration that we owned. By the time he was done, you would have sworn that you were smack dab in the middle of the North Pole. Several years later we allowed him to decorate again and before long it looked as if Rudolph had been binge eating the decorations again and then vomited them all over the ceiling and walls. Why yes, I do have a picture for that one.

Christmas 2006 Copyrighted-InJensMind

Well what do you use for your Christmas tree; paper or plastic? Err, I mean real or plastic?

YouTube Tuesday: 11/8/11

YouTube Tuesday, adopted from Josh at Its Tiger Time, is a day set aside for sharing your favorite video.

Feel free to join in each week and see how creative we bloggers can be. Each month, Josh will highlight a selected video and present the winner with the ‘YouTube Tuesday’ Award.
If you participate, remember to leave your YouTube Tuesday link at Its Tiger Time as well as all the blogs you visit.

I know it’s been awhile again since I have partook in the YouTube Tuesday festivities. I actually considered not doing it because my musical knowledge is out of this world but, I can never remember the song I want or even narrow it down. Luckily for all of you, I found it easy to narrow down today because it is exactly 9 months to the day when my sister Jessica passed away. (Hey, I’m a poet you know I will rhyme unintentionally.)

“But, Jen why does everything in your blog have to revolve around your sister’s death and not her life?” You may ask.

Well, if you give me a minute to type I will tell you how I chose this video because my sister loved Metallica. She use to smuggle the cassette tapes into our home and our step-mother would take them away and destroy them. The devil’s music… all that, you know yada yada. Although, I am still trying to figure out how supposed Christian’s who condone child abuse and even partake in it, can hear and understand Satan’s supposed words in music and not be at least partially evil but, I digress!!!

The point is that something that sounds loud and evil-like isn’t always as it appears. The lyrics to Metallica songs are actually very impressive for a group of their time. I will post the lyrics to the Metallica version of this song even though I am not posting Metallica’s song. Right before my sister passed I discovered the musical stylings of Buddha Lounge and their renditions of Metallica’s songs. I found it easy enough while searching online for “Buddha.” This is the first time I have listened to any of these songs since my Jess passed away. The music is soothing but, because all I can hear is Metallica’s lyrics…well, you get the picture.

Now just sit back, close your eyes, and let the Buddha Lounge rock your senses deep into enlightenment and beyond. By the way, these lyrics I am posting of the original Metallica song -Unforgiven actually are quite fitting of my childhood.

Buddha Lounge- Renditions of Metallica The Black Lounge- Unforgiven

Note: These lyrics are for Metallica’s Unforgiven not this particular video but, if you are up on your Metallica knowledge (like I am) you can actually hear where these lyrics fit in.

New blood joins this earth
And quickly he’s subdued
Through constant pained disgrace
The young boy learns their rules

With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he’s known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they’ll take away-eay

Chorus:

What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN

They dedicate their lives
To RUNNING all of his
He tries to please THEM all
This bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same
He’s battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me

What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN

(instrumental)

What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN

whoa, whoa

Never Free
Never Me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN
You labeled me
I’ll label you
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN
Never Free
Never Me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN
You labeled me
I’ll label you
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN
Never Free
Never Me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN

Daily Challenge For Jens Sake Day 3

Daily Challenge Day 3… The hardest challenge that ever was! The sun is disappearing as the sky has gone black. The Apocalypse has arrived and it’s in the form of a daily challenge. *SHRIEKS* “The end of the world is coming, the end of the world is comingggg.”

Today’s Daily Challenge Saturday Sep. 03, 2011

Emotional Health

EVERYDAY WELL-BEING
Donate or throw away 1 pair of old shoes or boots that you no longer wear.

How to do it
Find the oldest, most outdated, clunkiest pair of shoes in your closet. You know, the ones with an inch of dust on them. Put them on. Walk around the house in them. If you’re still unsure whether you should get rid of them, snap a photo of your feet and send it to a friend. Have her give you three reasons to get rid of them. Then put them in your donation bag (or toss if damaged).

Why it matters
Closet real estate is king, and way too valuable to have it taken up by shoes that we no longer wear. By ridding your closet of old, unused shoes, you will have the room to be better organized. This will facilitate wearing what you have, taking better care of it and getting dressed faster, thus eliminating the mad dash for the door every morning. And you will never again be frustrated by not being able to find a pair of shoes that you just KNOW are in there.

Fun Fact
A shoe by any other name… Zapata (Spanish), Chaussure (French), Schuhe (German), Pantofi (Romanian), Schoen (Dutch), Scarpa (Italian)

When I read this challenge I began to panic and scream… “NOOOOOOO, not my shoes!!!” Vomiting soon ensued as I sat holding my stomach. I was ill! OMG, the horror, the utter nerve… This challenge should be deemed illegal. Call 911, call the CIA, someone get GOD on the phone right NOW…I want to add a commandment; Thou shall not EVER make a woman get rid of her shoes!!! This is unjust, this is unfair, this is highway robbery and I will NOT stand for it…

Everyone knows women love their shoes. There is a void deep inside the center of our very soul that can only be filled with shoes. I have accumulated too many shoes to count let alone to wear but, it is my God given right as an American citizen to have them, dammit… Do you hear me? MY RIGHT to have a cluttered chaos of chic shoes! I am no Carrie Bradshaw but, this is just not right.

As a child I had 3 pair of shoes. Not because we were poor but, because I grew up in a 3rd world trailer under the tyranny of dictators. I had a dress pair of shoes for those times I was forced to go to church with my grandparents. Or for when I had to dress up for Choir. Or whatever other thing I had to do that required me looking like a girl. Phooey!!! Most of the time those dress shoes were penny loafers. I was an 80’s kid stuck in the goodwill shopping lane.

My second pair of shoes… sneakers, usually Converse or Chuck Taylors. Back in the 80’s and early 90’s they were the only shoe made in America. Dad was strict about his buy only American-made products policy. There was no name-brand designer anything in our home or on our bodies. And God forbid we bought something with our own hard earned money because to the trash it would go. Damn, tyrants!!
Then along came NAFTA (North America Free Trade Agreement) and last I saw his household wore Reebok. Guess our years of sticking it to the man and only buying what was made in our country wasn’t enough to stop NAFTA from happening. Good luck finding anything made in the USA now. Hypocrites!!

My third pair of shoes were Converse as well. They were gym shoes for school and when summer came they would become my new everyday pair. I spent most of my childhood barefoot though until I was older and started working and practicing softball and basketball all the time. Oh and lest I forget the dreaded huge moon boots I was forced to wear during the winter because we lived up in NeverStopsSnowingVille!!! It was called Fairview or UpNorth to the city-slicker Michaganders, because it was the northern part of the Lower Peninsula. Yeeehawwww I tell you. YEEEEFRICKINHAW!!! Anyway, back to my shoe challenge.

So as soon as I escaped “Little Germany” and got married, I began my shoe collecting. Awww, shoes. So calming, so refreshing, so soothing to my inner demon that just happens to have 6 feet…which is why I need more shoes than I can possibly wear. LOL

I began with my slippers basket. This way I could work my way up to shoes and if all else fails I can “fib” and say I did it because slippers are kind of like shoes, right? I dumped my basket on the floor and stared. A single tear dropped my eye as I picked up slipper after slipper and made that life changing decision to toss or keep. Out of 10 pairs, I kept 2. The rest I tossed, they were old, tattered and torn, a few broken… just like my heart. I cannot do this… Lord give me strength!

35 pairs of flip-flops, 20 tossed… HELP ME!! Next, 60 pairs of high heels, sneakers and boots, 1 pair tossed. Sorry but, I cannot throw away those. I did throw away a pair of Skechers that I bought when I lived in Chicago right before I moved out here. That was approximately 8 years ago so I can let those ones go.

Phew… I am not as stressed now, could be because I didn’t get rid of anything still in top condition. I can tell you this though, my shoes are now back to organized status. My closet on the other hand is still in need of a makeover but, two baskets of shoes are no longer in there, so it’s a start. So what are YOU waiting for??
It’s your turn. Join in on the Daily Challenge; Facebook it, Blog it, Live it, Love it!!!

Freedom For Father’s Day

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Father’s Day brings mixed emotions for me. One, for my kids who rarely see their dad because he is a workaholic; I guess if he is going to be an aholic I prefer it be work over alcohol. It would be nice if their dad realized that there is more to being a dad then providing a roof over one’s head. I’m certain one day he will grasp that idea but, the kids will be grown by then.

The other is for my father who is still alive but, I don’t call him or send him a card anymore for various reasons.

One reason being, he has disowned  me too many times to remember. Secondly, I don’t receive cards or calls on my “special” days including my birthday and neither do my kids; his grandkids. And lastly, I am just tired of trying to keep a relationship alive when it’s apparent he doesn’t care. Therefore, I have taken up the position of “You don’t know me then I don’t know you.” After all these years of trying what more can I do…

Am I wrong for this? I don’t believe I am wrong, I did my best most of my life to be a part of his life and in my opinion the road goes both ways. Yet, here I am, the one putting in the effort all the time. It just isn’t worth it to me to keep trying when it’s obvious I am not wanted in his life. I did the “Christian” thing; I forgave, accepted apologies and gave apologies but, did I get unconditional love back? No, I did not get back a fraction of what I put into the supposed father/daughter relationship. What we have here people, is a failure to reciprocate.

I’ve moved on now, there is nothing left to do but, move on and as my husband says; “Just say I love you and leave it at that.” (He can be a wise man sometimes.) I have bent over backwards to be included in the lives of people who swear they love me and my kids but, don’t actually know us. My kids have grandparents and they are a mystery to them. There are no phone calls, cards, or letters… absolutely nothing except, the occasional; “You know we love your kids” statement that I have heard during a phone call. Yet, still no effort is made on their part to be a part of their grandchildren’s lives. I have a hard time with this because I was taught that family is everything; how strange… because only certain family was ever included in our lives when I was growing up the rest were “disowned.” Well, looks like I too am a part of the “do as I want or be gone” side of the family. Thank God I believe that the most important family is my husband and kids or I might just be torn up about being exiled…

I can no longer accept such half-assed attempts from anyone, no matter who they are. It is one thing to be upset at me for whatever you believe I have done wrong but, to alienate children just because they are my blood is not only ridiculous it’s asinine and childish. One day my kids will be grown and in my opinion better off for not knowing people who didn’t take time out of their busy little fantasy isle lives to acknowledge them and love them.

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So my gift this Father’s Day is the gift of… freedom. I am freeing myself of annoyances, games and intolerable trivial nonsense and I am giving my father the freedom to never have to deal with me or mine ever again; which is clearly the greatest gift for any father who constantly disowns people like they were material possessions.

What I will not give though is my silence; I have spent too many years not saying what needed to be said and watched while those around me were verbally assaulted. I know for a fact that neither of my grandparents raised any of their children to be bullies or to deny their grandchildren just because they were mad at their children for something their child did as a child. In fact my grandmother not only accepted all her grandchildren she also accepted step-grandchildren and would take all of us during the summer to stay with her at her house. So I know very well her children were raised better than to “disown” anyone.

It’s time to grow up; the child is almost 36 years old now and if I am being judged as an adult for something I did as a child, well I guess you just aren’t as smart as you think you are. Everyone makes mistakes and when you say “I’m sorry” or “I forgive you” than that is where it ends. You don’t hold on to something that transpired 17 years ago. I am not the same person I was 17 years ago and it’s a shame that some people haven’t changed at all in that time. So I end this with; I love you and I wish you well but, I cannot keep being a part of such constant hatred and childishness anymore. God loves all of his children no matter what; I know those are big shoes to fill but, you might want to give it a try.

To all the dads out there… Happy Father’s Day, love your children unconditionally and treat them well so that one day they will remember the good things about you and pass them down to their children.

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I Became A Boy So I Could Play Baseball

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I am the oldest girl in my family; my father had three daughters and always yearned for a son.

Naturally, it became my job to carry out his fantasy. Believe me when I say, I would have much rather been taught how to be a girl but, it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

From the time I could walk I had a baseball in my hand, pretty strange for a little girl but, dad for some twisted reason needed me to play the son role.

My sister who was two years younger than me, got to play girl, in some ways I envy that but, in other ways I don’t. Since I was daddy’s little boy, I learned how to play sports like a boy.

There was no girl who played baseball like I played baseball. I could throw hard and far, I could hit any kind of pitch thrown at me and I could switch hit. Those of you who know nothing about baseball; switch hitting is when you hit right-handed then switch to hitting left-handed or vice versa. Being, ambidextrous, I have always excelled with either hand.

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As I got older I started playing softball because that was what “girls” played and even though I was good at it, it was not baseball. I spent my days practicing; throwing, catching and batting. Dad had a wooden bat I practiced with; it was heavy but, if I could swing that and hit the ball, just imagine what I would do with a light-weight aluminum bat.

Every weekend during the summer when dad would come home from work, we would go up to the park for baseball practice. Dad would pitch and I would hit and then we would switch. I could strike dad out several times while playing; my sports abilities were the only thing I received praise for.

The thing I can say about dad teaching me to play baseball is I played like a man; both dad and I could hit damn near any kind of pitch, including ones you would never swing at if you were playing in the Major League. If the ball was within arm reach we would swing at it. It was all in fun and kept our talent at maximum peak.

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One day the family went up to the park and played our usual game of baseball. I was pitching, my step-mom was catching, my sisters were in the outfield and dad was batting. He managed to hit a few of my pitches then all of a sudden, I throw this one pitch that maybe dad shouldn’t have swung at. In fact, I know he should NEVER have swung at that. Dad managed to tip the ball with the bat and we all stood shocked as the ball circled high in the sky and CRASHED right into the windshield of his car that was parked on the other side of the fence. It took a few moments and finally dad laughed; “Look what you did.” he told me. “What?! I didn’t hit it.” I replied. Dad never parked that close to the fence ever again.

 

I can honestly say this is a happy memory from my childhood and I am ok with being treated like a boy so I could have the excellent baseball playing skills I posess. There are many things I might change from back then if I could but, this gift I wouldn’t change for anything.

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Lovable Labels BlogHer’ 11 Getaway Contest

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With blood soaking  my jeans and jacket; I hurriedly walked from my apartment to the nearest gas station. It was only a matter of time before they dealt the blow that would kill me. Tears and blood streamed down my face as I dialed the number that I had called collect so many times before in my young life; my mom’s. Continue reading

The Days on Gary Ct.

Gary Ct. Google Maps

Some days I sit and see the connection friends have amongst themselves and I long for the days when I was surrounded by good friends. It’s inevitable; people, move on and friendships fall apart, not because of choice but, because we all become so busy with other things that we no longer find time to visit or call. Some of us will try and find time to at least comment on a friend’s Facebook status before getting swept back up in the tediousness of our lives. Continue reading