All I Want Is A Normal Life

God, denial is a funny thing. Ok, not funny ha-ha, but funny fucked-up. Over the past week, I’ve decided that I should go to visit my Grandma again. My mom said she thinks that G’ma is well enough to recognize me, but I was trying to explain to my mom that MY G’ma went away three years ago, and the person there is just kind of G’ma-ish, but not really G’ma to me.

My mom and G’ma had a really strained relationship at times when I was growing up. My mom went and told them (both grandma and grandpa) that they had a “dysfunctional” family, since that was what her therapist told her and, in many ways, I guess her family wasn’t all open with their emotions and stuff when they were growing up… but that’s a lot of family stuff that a lot of families have to deal with. I mean, my family life wasn’t all that good until much later. I think the only reason we have such a good relationship now is because we’ve all been able to put a lot of that crap behind us and move on as friends. All families are fucked up in many ways. I don’t know a single one that isn’t. So there’s really no judgment there.

But Mom and Grandma didn’t really have that great of a relationship always, so now that mom is getting to know grandma’s kinder side — the side I loved her for — she’s getting to really appreciate the best thing about grandma: her heart. And that’s about all there is of Grandma anymore. So all that stuff that was some parent-child dynamic isn’t there and both of them just get to appreciate each other: my mom gets to appreciate grandma without all the weird mis-communications, and my grandma gets to appreciate how amazing, strong, and caring that my mom is. About all this, my mom feels like I’m judging her or like I’m saying she only loves grandma when she’s frail or something. But it’s not like that. It just that I feel like she’s finally getting to know the person I knew.

And even as I type this, I feel myself distancing from the situation, making it a story, not a thing I’m actually going through. I’m going to try to bring it back.

My grandma is not dead. But I’m acting like she is. I’m acting like the shell of the person isn’t important… like a husk or something. But she’s still in there. She’s still her. And even if all that’s left is her heart, that’s the best part about her. I miss her brain, her understanding, her caring, all these things are gone. But the best part is still there, at least according to my mom. And I’m avoiding — yes, I said it: avoiding — going up there, not because it’s not important to me, but because I’m in denial of my feelings about her. My feelings of love, my feelings of loss. I’ve done everything in my power not to think about it. I’ve even taken anti-anxiety medicine that my friends have very kindly given to me. All these things make me question what I should do. They make me calm, but I am not calm. Truly. Really. In my heart.

And I can never understand if I’ve done the “right” thing until it’s too late to do the “right” thing anymore. So I have to take a chance and face the panic of losing the person who has been, for most of my life, my favorite family member.

Since I decided to go up there, I’ve been all moody and needy to David, which has made him kind of pull away, which is really hard. Really fucking hard. Because I need a close friend now, but Teresa, my best friend from years ago who knows me pretty well, but who is just awful at getting back to me. And David is not really helping. He just doesn’t understand why I’m so insecure and constantly needing reassurance that he loves me. And I am not one to get hurt, so I, of course, have to pull away from him. I have to protect myself. I just really want Teresa, since she and I understand each other around stuff like this. But she’s also got her own problems and really needs a friend herself these days.

My mom says G’ma might not last three weeks. I am going to try to go up there on the 23rd.

Side note: Nick, this is why I haven’t written back about this and probably will never be able to pull myself to write back about this. I’m really weird about my emotions around this. This is my journal.

We’re not mind readers, you know. If something’s bothering you, you should really just fucking say something already instead of sulking around waiting for us to guess. Did we miss your mother’s birthday again? Are we drinking too much? Is this about how we forgot to pick up little Billy from school yesterday? We may never know unless you just fucking tell us.

And that’s where this guide comes in. Through these communication techniques, you’ll learn to express what’s really on your mind through verbal and nonverbal communication. To take “blame out of the game” and start really showing us how we make you feel and you make us feel.

Broken Relationships Come from Broken Communication Techniques

Yeah, we’re talking about you. You’re fucking broken, and that’s why we go around and around again about the same shit, day after day. When we all understand the process of open communication, we can start to rebuild this fucking wreckage of a relationship that you’ve made.

Basically, we’re saying that our relationship is fucking Kabul, and you’re President George W. Bush. At least have the common decency not to argue about that.

The Language We Use to Symbolize Reality is Really Incomplete

You always leave something out when retelling a story because the words you choose to describe reality are not reality. They’re just your understanding of reality. Our understanding of the same reality can be –and often is—completely different from yours.

Remember that telephone game from elementary school? No matter how it started out, it always ended the same: with a kid whispering “Your mother is a whore and you smell like bad eggs” into your ear. Why? Because no matter how it started out, you couldn’t escape the truth that Deborah is, in fact, a whore. And we didn’t want to bring it up this way, but you really do smell kind of like rotten eggs. But not exactly like rotten eggs… see what we mean about words not really expressing reality very well?

How to Avoid the Pitfalls of Miscommunicating Reality

1. Be careful in the words you choose. Are you sure you really want to say that? Think about past times you’ve said similar things and think about the damage you’ve caused to us and our relationship.

2. Ask clarifying questions. “Really?” “You can’t be fucking serious,” and “This again?” are all excellent starters to clarify questionable statements that may have been made.

3. Avoid generalizations. When you say, “Men/Women are all the same! Lying, cheating assholes/bitches!” Do you really mean that? Or are you just saying that you couldn’t do any better and you’ll probably just end up dating the next creep who picks you up at the Laundromat? Be honest with yourself, here. You’re not getting any younger.

We See the World Differently

You say we drink too much. We say you should lighten the fuck up and have a good time for once. You say we’re terrible parents. We say you should have gotten the abortion like we said. You say we should get a job. We say that the lottery pays way better than any fucking day job.

To become better at communicating, and to understand where you’re wrong, you should be sure to listen –really listen—to what we’re saying. Really. Shut the fuck up.

In the Real World, Everything Occurs Within a Context

We have probably all been misunderstood or had misunderstandings when something has been taken out of its original context. Although you don’t fully understand how much our environment influences us, you need to consider that when we tell you those girls/boys meant nothing to us. We were drunk and/or high. Sorry. How many fucking times do we have to go over this?

In fact, this is bullshit. We’re going to the bar. Don’t wait up. Yeah? Well fuck you, too.

Brief: we didn’t go to Santacon after all. We couldn’t find a fricken’ suit, so we decided to get some egg nog (ok, I got Silk’s new Pumpkin Spice flavored soy milk — deeeeelicious!) and brandy and watch Christmas movies. Today, we got a tree and strung popcorn. Tomorrow, I string cranberries. Christmas BOOSH!

I feel like I’m just seeing a best friend after months of not talking. There was SO much stuff I wanted to write about… everything from the cyber-bullying case (briefly: It’s awful that the girl killed herself after being bullied by the mother… that woman -the mother- is a sick individual who should be in a mental institution. It’s people like this who make our society bad in the ways it’s bad. But at the same time, there’s no *explicit* law that if someone harassed someone else into killing themselves, that the harasser is a murderer. I mean, I could call you every day and tell you that everyone hated you and you should die, but you are ultimately responsible for if you kill yourself as a result of that… and, for whatever is right or wrong here, that’s the way our society is put together -or should be-. I can’t sue McDonalds for seducing me with trashy food that ultimately will kill me) to Mary Poppins (briefly: watched it last night for the first time, and OH MY GOSH that’s the best movie ever. I want to watch it every day. STEP IN TIME! hahahaha… awesome) to Beyonce (briefly: I love her. I don’t care what you say. She’s great).

But this morning, I’m eating the most amazing meal I’ve cooked since going vegan: a soyrizo burrito with sauteed mushrooms, peppers, garlic, scallions, onions, and jalapenos, topped with some fresh avocado and wrapped in a fresh and delicious flour tortilla. YUM! I’m watching Survivorman, one of my favorite shows (Les Stroud is my television crush). At 1pm, Santacon (Lord knows where that website came from… Santacon’s always been kind of an underground event), which I’ve managed to talk David into coming on. After watching Mary Poppins last night, I realize that Dick Van Dyke’s character, Bert, would be an awesome boyfriend. But no one is like that, and the fact is, David and I get along really well. We laugh at the same stuff and we laugh pretty constantly. No, he’s not goofy or larger-than-life like Bert, and I had to do a little convincing to get him to come to Santacon, and he doesn’t really like camping or hiking, but I love being with him, I love talking with him, I love laughing with him… I love HIM. So much so that I don’t really care if he doesn’t want to do all those other things that used to be most important to me in a relationship — things I thought I’d never compromise on. So I’m sticking with David and trying to find the motivation to do all these other things (hiking, camping, karaoke, etc) without him. He’s not a vegan and doesn’t even eat organic/sustainable meats or vegetables/fruit. He’d never even had real peanut butter until he met me… it had always been that sugar and lard concoction that they market as nutritional paste. Bleh. And he loved the real peanut butter! I warned him that he’d probably not like it, since it just tastes like peanuts, but he likes peanuts and loved the peanut butter! And he at least plays along when I make vegan food.

It’s a beautiful day and I’ve got a lot of stuff to do today, so I have to get moving. I’ve set myself up for a vigorous training program to ensure I’m in shape for the Wilderness Travel Course. Even though the “Girlfriends” episode of “Flight of the Conchords” is on, I’ve got to peel myself off this couch.

Seriously.

Off the couch.

OH and props to WordPress on the new look. Um, now you just have to get mobile uploads, hey?

My mom is visiting this week and will be here until next Friday, which is awesome. My mom is one of my best friends. I feel really lucky to have been raised by someone so compassionate and cool.

This morning as I was walking Diva, I saw some kids throwing rocks at a dog in a yard. The dog started barking and they ran off, but if they had been there continuing to throw rocks, I would have started throwing rocks at them. And it got me thinking about my mom and how she always raised me not to needlessly maim stuff, to tenderly carry out spiders (in fact, the other night I found I had laid down on a spider in my bed and I felt its little spidery legs all flailing in a panic and after executing several rapid, panic-filled shrieks, I picked up the pillow it was on and helped the poor terrified thing to the door), and to take care of the animals we had as if they were our own children. When I was in kindergarten, our class had a bunch of eggs that hatched in an incubator and my mom valiantly allowed me to bring them home and mature into adolescent chickens in our kitchen. She just put a bunch of paper down and the little chicks ran in chick circles until they started getting their adult feathers… and then they kind of got too big to live in the tiny kitchen, so we had to give them to 4H. We’ve always had cats, or rats, or dogs — sometimes all at the same time.

And so the idea of throwing rocks at a dog would have never occurred to me. I mean, really, who the fuck does that? Where are their parents? Why would humans tease a poor, defenseless animal who lives his life behind a fence? Who says that’s ok? Of that, my opinion is definitely “eye for an eye.” People who throw rocks at dogs should have rocks thrown at them.

But I’ve got to assume that has something to do with how I was raised. I think it’s because my mom and I always had another species living with us, be it feline, rodent, or canine (or once, for a short bird-sitting experience, avian). I’ve always felt a kind of symbiotic relationship with the pets. We’re different but equal (this has driven every boyfriend I’ve ever had completely crazy). Every pet has had its own personality, thoughts, desires, interests, and goals (albeit in a short-sighted kind of way). Diva, my dalmatian, for example, is the kind of dog who would high four* you all the time for how awesome you are. She has all the faith in the world that whatever you’re doing, it’s the best possible thing you could be doing at that moment. “Somehow,” she thinks, “this is all leading to a walk, some food, or some petting.” She’s all fun and games — completely goofball. Layla, our german shepherd on the other hand, was always focused on getting everyone in the same room — keeping the pack together. She was serious a lot of the time, even serious about having a good time scouting ahead on walks or fetching balls… all of this was very focused. And Gray, our little old lady cat, was always very tender and caring, while Yellow, her son, was always super macho. And then there was the completely batshit crazy cat, Spot. Spot would have been institutionalized if he was a human. There was not one single normal brain cell in that cat’s head.

Anyways, it’s late and I’m done reminiscing about my pets of yore. Right now, Diva is all snoozypants waiting for me to stop typing so we can get to some serious log-sawing.

* no dew claw

While megalomaniacally checking my stats today, I noticed that my stats PLUMMETED today. And of course they did. I didn’t post jack shit remotely interesting today. Even this blog post is a yawn-o-rama… and Nick, don’t even say that you liking this entry makes you boring, it just makes you easily amused.

And why would anyone (nick excluded) give any love to an un-updated blog? It takes me about two consecutive days of no updates before I lose interest and cruise TechCrunch for more stories about Yahoo!

But really…
Today was long. REALLY long. So long, in fact, that I couldn’t even use the restroom for most of the day. And now it’s 7:43 and I’m still at work, plugging away, about to bust into my emergency grapefruit. (just peeled it and am now making my keyboard all sticky — ew)

The Highlight, which is such a highlight that I feel like maybe I should put it in a different font color, is that Miranda sent me a package (or, rather, I received the package that Miranda had sent several days ago)!!!! In it was the following package inventory, listed on a square slip:

Package Inventory
1. Letter
2. “The Eyes Have It” – A themed mix
3. “Songs of Self-Depreciation” – A double mix
4. The Love Recordings – a field recording project as part of the field recording exchange late 2007 – 2008; I asked random poeple, some that I knew and some that I didn’t, 1) what their definition of love was, and 2) To share a story about when they were in love or felt love.
5. A dress/jumper that I dyed and customized with felt. I want you to have it. It took me a long time to make and it’s one of the most special things I have to give. Thanks for a great friendship.
Much love, M.

There just aren’t words to say how touched, amazed, appreciative, and inspired I am by the contents of the package. The dress fits really well and I got a lot of compliments on it today. I was so proud to say that my friend made it. The mixes are wonderful and filled with fantastic music (and even “The Eye of the Tiger”!). The letter was something I responded to right away (Miranda, it’s on its way… all boring text only of it). I’m puzzling a way to play the Love Recordings. I can’t wait to hear them. It looks like a trip to Fry’s is in my future!

It didn’t just make my day. It made a lot of days in the past and into the future, too. Even writing about it, I’m getting all teary. *snif*

Tomorrow, my mom’s arriving into Burbank airport, so I have to get out of here and get some sleep. I have to pick her up early and then continue on to work.

It’s been an uncommonly exciting weekend on many levels. It was really productive. I got a lot of stuff done in the past few days… I started the an online community about my new hobby of being incredibly cheap, I wrote a ton of stuff (blog entries, restaurant reviews, and events on Good Girls Guide), I got my grocery shopping done, and I cleaned my room. Hey! All that and some fun stuff, too!

Yesterday morning, I went and picked up a bike… yes, the really rad bike from the entry a couple days ago. It turned out to be a pretty cool bike with only a couple problems. It’s a fairly light 1960s touring bike with a good frame. There’s some rust on the back gears and it needed a new chain and a new back wheel, all of that (plus installation, a lock, and an orange safety vest) cost about $200. But hey, $200 isn’t bad for a really nice bike. I hope to ride it tomorrow after work at Griffith Park. Maybe I can even ride faster than the rabid coyotes! Yippee!

While the bike was at the shop getting a new back wheel and chain (did you know they make ‘em greaseless these days?), I had breakfast with my dad. It was really great to hang with him, since I usually admire his outlook on life and had a very specific question for him: David hasn’t historically seemed to take a very proactive approach to getting out of the house and checking out cultural stuff… and that has bothered me. And my dad and his girlfriend, Linda, are always going out and doing cool stuff – usually free cool stuff! – and I wanted to get his take on how I could get David to come out more, and maybe show a little more enthusiasm for going out. And my dad had some great advice: do what he wants to do first (go see Madagascar 2) and then go to what I wanted to do (go to the Robot Garden guy’s party and see the Silverlake art walk). Which was a great idea and David totally was happy to go along with.

Except I’ve got to be totally honest here… I was kind of uncomfortable at the Silverlake art walk thing that I so badly wanted to go to. I’m just not hipster enough. There were so many hipsters there… really! Like a million! And I felt all out of place and — well, not exactly too old — just not cool enough. But the robot garden was neat and the girl performing was cool and the art was all amazing. So I think I’m going to stick out being uncomfortable to go to more of these things. Even if I’m not cool. Even if I’m not a hipster. Even if I’m just a dorky (and not in the cool, Juno dorky way) joiner. Not everyone can be awesome, right?

And on the way home, we stopped off at Villa Terraza, which I reviewed on Yelp like so:

Wow. It’s hard to imagine how this place stays in business. The ambiance is ok (the star), but that’s where the magic ends. First, the proprietress acted like she was put out to seat us. Second, the menu… wow… like Michael S (whom I don’t know) said, it really needs some proofreading. We counted no fewer than 8 spelling errors in the appetizers alone (I took a photo but will have to upload it later). Third, no alcohol. Srsly. They can open a bottle of something you bring with you (probably at a steep corkage), but they can’t sell you alcohol. Fourth, the prices are outrageous. They’re what I call “fancy food” prices, but the place is like a fancy Shaky’s.

We decided just to go with an appetizer, since I’m super cheap and only spend money if I’m drinking. The bruchetta (on a “baget”) was sub-prime tomatoes mixed with grayish basil. The proscuitto was of ok quality, but the whole presentation looked so … weird. It looked seriously inedible. The flavor was ok, but 4 hours later, I’m still burping it up. It definitely wasn’t worth the $10… I could make something much more edible using fresh ingredients and some Safeway bread.

The highlight of the evening was when our bite was over and we escaped out the back door to check out the grounds. There are some weird cabanas on a plaza. It looks like an ideal place for a party, but the business was decidedly unparty-like. We got startled off by the proprietress just as I was taking a photo of the restroom sign that said, “Restrooms Fallow the Signs.”

So yes, I was totally and brutally honest. Hey, I call it like I see it.

David had the great idea to go to the Gene Autry Museum, which is great…. I mean the idea to go, since I’m really into Western stuff and we never have gone to a museum or done anything arty at all. And so we made a plan to go Sunday (today).

We also went to Dave’s bar (reviewed also on Yelp) and it smelled like vomit and spilled hard alcohol. It was gross. And loud. And the people were really creepy. This old cougar kept hitting on David and dancing all weird. Wow, the whole place was a train wreck. And after that, we went home and watched some TV while I fell asleep on David’s lap on the couch. It was a nice day.

This morning, I woke up a little foggy and out of sorts, but pulled myself together to go to the Farmers’ Market and get vegetables for the week. $20 later, I bought everything I needed… and holy MOLY, the tomatoes are amazing. It’s like they picked themselves right off the vine.

And then we went to the Gene Autry Museum, which is its own story, but I have to go and make myself some dinner and get to bed. Tomorrow’s a big day… I’ve got a doctor’s appointment to figure out why I’m chronically sick these days. I feel like I’m playing a deck of only 40 cards, including the jokers. It just isn’t right and I’ve got to get to the bottom of it.

Brigitte Dale did this cute piece. I love it.

So, just a brief follow-up. He invited me over tomorrow night for dinner and hockey. He’s going to pet my hair and make up for last night. Aw. *snif*

David and I had what I guess is the closest thing to a fight that we’ve had. –Eh, I guess there was the dispute over his contract work about a month ago, when this contract that he was spending his nights and weekends on really started interfering with our relationship.– Anyways, it was kind of a fight, and we never really fight. First, he’s too apologetic to fight. Whenever a conflict comes up, he apologizes. I don’t know if that’s because he really sees my way on things (hey, I only bring stuff up about once every three months) or because he doesn’t want to cause trouble, but he seems to try to diffuse conflict pretty rapidly. (which leaves me feeling like he doesn’t really get what I’m upset about) Second, I don’t really bring up much of anything. The things I’ve brought up I can count on one hand: “I’ve never met your friends,” “You work on this contract too much and it’s affecting our relationship,” and “I really needed you to pet my hair and be supportive, but you aren’t even staying the night tonight.”

Last night’s was the last of those three. After the bee encounter, I really needed a mommy. I wanted someone to pet my hair and feel sorry for me. I don’t need these things very often, but it was a shitty, pointless day and I really needed it. I told him this in IM, but he thought I was kidding or exaggerating, not that I was being serious. Instead, he wanted to stay home and watch the Vice Presidential debates and then watch a hockey movie. I was disappointed, but he was going to come over last night, so I figured I could buck up and put my need for pity on hold and deal with it then.

I made a really nice dinner with seared tuna, sauteed spinach with garlic, and fried brown rice (ok, from a bag from Trader Joe’s). Everything was going nicely, but when I laid my head on his lap, there was zeroh petting to be had. I gave him hint motions (you know, grabbing his hand and making a petting motion), but there was no petting. And definitely no “poor baby” or anything like that.

And then when it came time to go to bed, he told me he wasn’t staying. What? Oh man… it’s because Diva always keeps him awake when he sleeps over. But I was planning on keeping Diva in the main house so he could sleep, and hey, if he wanted to have a different situation, he could have asked! I’m always very flexible and understanding and open to communication, but the communication has to be out there. He countered with that I could have asked if he was staying, too, but then I talked about how I was really looking forward to last night because I didn’t get my “poor baby” the night before, when I really needed it. He didn’t know what I was talking about, so I reminded him that I even asked for what I needed (I think many girls expect psychic stuff, but I don’t. If I need something, I put it out there), and that I didn’t think I could have been more clear about my specific needs.

So here’s my dilemma: I just don’t understand it. I don’t understand how he could have heard that I really needed him and thought I was joking. I don’t understand how he could have not communicated with me about what he needed to be comfortable at my place, when I’ve been so clear about being open to his needs and wants. I just don’t understand this whole thing.

I called him and said that it was just inconsiderate. He was being inconsiderate of my feelings. He said he didn’t think it was inconsiderate because that meant that he knew my feelings and just ignored them, but I said that was a value judgment on the meaning of the word. Just by the definition of the word, he was not considering or being sensitive to my feelings.

It’s hard, because I feel like I’m really trying to be the most awesome girlfriend I can be. I encourage him to do things he wants to do. I don’t complain about things he does. I communicate in a really straightforward, non-nagging way. I don’t get angry or fly off the handle. Even when I’m angry, I tell him I am in a calm way and then tell him exactly why I am angry. I don’t fling blame around, but rather, I use the Nonviolent Communication method and say things like, “When you x, I feel y.” It’s exhausting, but I think it’s rewarding…

… except when I do all the “right things” and it still doesn’t work. And then I get really irritated because I’m doing everything right and things still aren’t perfect!

Anyways, I’ve got to get on the dog walk. I guess this is the part of the relationship where I have to keep working on it even though it isn’t fun to work on it anymore. And maybe try to help David learn to communicate and hear me when I communicate.