Red Dress Photoshoot

Here are a sampling of the photos from my red dress photo shoot. My wonderful photographer, Trisha Fisher from Trisha Fisher Photography. It was a beautiful early spring day and I was so glad that Trisha welcomed Zac at my photoshoot.

My red dress was lovingly donated as part of the Red Dress Project (I'm not sure if she wants to be named here). The dress has already been advertised and will soon be passed on to another woman to continue the cycle of empowerment, beauty, and mystery. The basic premise of the project is: sometimes you just have to wear a red dress for no reason, just to be, for one minute or one hour, the embodiment of the person you want to be.

The day of my red dress shoot, I was definitely challenged. My friend Seven and I had a brutal fight and we stormed off the phone swearing we were never going to talk again. I was fighting back tears when I put on the dress, which had been described to me as "a stretchy size 12". Well, it was looser than the first time I tried it on, but basically very, very tight. It also had skinny straps, so I decided to wear a short-sleeve black sweater. Then to stave off any feelings of being in drag, I decided to wear my casual Merrill shoes, which I'm pretty sure Trisha frowned at when she saw. I ended up taking most of my photographs bare foot.

Zac was there the whole time, usually playing on the wooden bridges and pavilions, constantly asking, "Is it my turn to take a picture". He forced me not to take myself too seriously, especially since my hurt was still hurting from the fight I had had just minutes before putting on the dress.

Did I feel powerful, beautiful, and sexy? Did I feel like I was celebrating losing 50lbs? Yes and No. The old insecurities still plague me. Most of the photos I'm looking up because I was sensitive about my double chin. In every photo, I ask myself, "How do my arms look in that? They don't look too big do they?" But it was fun. It was fun being with Zac at a park in the late afternoon. It was fun playing with all the props that Trisha had brought in her huge duffel bag. It was fun when she would take a photo and be so happy with the result that she would show me with this knowing smile in her eyes.

I don't want the back story of the photos ruin the photos themselves. They are beautiful and have more to do with my talented photographer than me. Some of the photos thought, where I'm looking directly into the camera lens, belies some of the strength in my eyes that has come from seven years of trial. Seven years of living as a single Mom, struggling in my career, getting a masters degree, trying to make a life for myself. That shows in my eyes.

Then in contrast, there are the pictures with Zac. The pictures where I look so happy and Zac is so happy and we are such a family. It's he and I, taking on the world and we love each other so much. 6 1/2 has been such a good age. I'm so lucky to have Zac, even when his love for me astounds me, I've tried to never take it for granted. Even when I was sick and thought he would get over the loss of me and be better off with another family, I knew, deep down, that the love we share was and still is a powerful force.

He's silly and funny and charmed Trisha with his jokes about the evolution of dinosaurs. Man I love that kid and I'm so happy he got to celebrate the red dress with me.

Six cc's and full of vigor

After the drama of the last post, I have very little dramatic news to announce. Six cc's is...shockingly normal. Not "I can eat a bacon double cheeseburger with a large french fry" normal (and all of you with a stomach that can hold a full 6 cups of food, spend a little time tonight thanking the sweet Lord that you can enjoy not one, but TWO cheeseburgers simultaneously). I'm more like, "I just ate some sweet and sour soup and a couple of beef kabobs and I don't feel like I'm going to die". THAT kind of normal.

In other, perhaps more exciting news beyond my gastrointestinal track, I finally had my red dress photo shoot. I'm waiting on confirmation from my wonderful photographer to see if I can use her name here. Until then, if you are anywhere in the Houston area, I would highly recommend her. Just e-mail me or send me a message on Facebook and I'll send over her info. At the photo shoot, I ran out of steam before she did AND she brought a duffel bag full of props. I held things. I hid behind things. She had towels at the ready for when I had to sit down on slightly damp grass next to a river. The woman thought of everything. Then there's the part where she kept saying, "You look like a model" and murmuring to herself, "Beautiful". There's that part. There is also the part where she made Zac kiss me approximately 20 times while exclaiming, "That's so great! Keep doing that Zac!" so he did and we both giggled.

I'll write more about the experience when I get the photos in a couple of weeks.

Until then, I'm neck-deep in GLBT volunteering and I'm not sure I can see the white light at the end of the tunnel. Delegate you say? Why, I would if I knew where to start. Delegating might be new favorite word. Delegate. Delegate. Delegate. Yes, it does feel good.

Not quite as good as that egg roll I just ate, but you can't have everything.

Those are the brakes you feel

I love the Internet. If you want to avoid something at all costs, the worst thing you can do is post about it for all your friends and family to see. In my last post, I was so confident that I would lose the weight. Downright cocky when I said, "I don't know. Do you think 120lb is too skinny? What about 140?" Blah, blah, blah..I'm going to be a skinny bitch...blah, blah, blah. I'm a freaking idiot and I should know better than to tempt Internet fate.

While I was being so Polly Anna, I neglected to report some of the more negative parts of having a lap band. I was filled on February 10th and almost immediately I knew something was different. I went from puking every other day or so to regularly puking twice a day. Then there was the heart burn and upset stomach. Last time I felt like that, I was in my third trimester with Zac. I felt awful, every single night. In the morning though, I'd feel better and get up and go to work. Unfortunately, with all the stomach pain and reflux, I stopped drinking liquids. God that sounds stupid. Let's see? I was puking regularly and restricting fluids.

Want to guess where I went on Tuesday?

If you guessed the ER, you would be correct. I woke up Tuesday morning with a massive, intense headache, cramps in my calves, and a very upset stomach. I tried eating. I puked. I laid on the couch and called my surgeon. Then I waited....and waited...no one called me back. My friend, Mr. Grinch, told me that I could go to University General (yes, that is the real name of the hospital, even if it sounds like a soap opera) instead of Methodist. I didn't know what to do. My surgeon is at Methodist, but I wasn't sure if their ER could help me. So I went to University General, which has the smallest ER in Houston, hands down.

I only waited 5 minutes to go back to a room. I was moderately-severely dehydrated. A doctor came in and removed 7.8 cc's from my band (which is all but .2cc's of what was in there). I asked if they could only take out part of the fluid, but they took out almost everything. Then they gave me a full IV bag of saline with a side car of anti-nausea medication. I felt so much better.

The next day, it was like I was on vacation from my stomach. I had Mexican food for lunch and Chinese food (Chinese food! Do you know how long it's been since I've had that without puking? I couldn't even Chinese food in CHINA without puking). I can't even publicly admit what I had for lunch today. I texted Mr. Grinch and asked him how jealous he was. I told him it was like food porn. If you can't eat it yourself, you might as well listen to someone else eat it. That was my theory at least. I don't think the Grinch appreciated it very much.

I went to my surgeon's office today and the doc was furious, both at UGH for taking what a year of fluid in my band ("They were covering their own asses. They didn't have your best interest in mind") and his own staff for not calling me back. He put in 6cc's of fluid, which for your reference, is about six times as much as he's ever put in at once. I could feel the band inflate. Literally. I could feel an object bisect my stomach. My stomach hurts so much now that my back is hurting. In other good news, my bp was so low that I was deemed still dehydrated. Awesome.

This would be the not-so-pleasant side of bariatric surgery.

50/50

This Sunday was supposed to be my Red Dress photo shoot, but my photographer asked to reschedule because of the rain and flooding the night before and a death in her family. I had been consciously dieting to make sure I hit the 50lb mark with my weight loss. Right now, I'm 8lbs away from my pre-baby weight, which is spectacular in my opinion. I'm starting to see definition in my legs and calves and really just now starting to feel differently about my body. I was so tuned out of it that it's taken me losing 50lbs to even feel like myself again.

 I asked my gastric surgeon what my ideal weight should be. He asked how tall I was and I dutifully told him I'm 5'4 (and a half, don't forget the half, it's important). He thought for a nanosecond and then said authoritatively: 120lbs. I would have laughed out loud, but he was digging around for the port under my skin with needle, so I tried not to move too much. Let me just put this into perspective. The last time I was that weight I'm pretty sure I was in the 8th grade. When I graduated high school, after dancing and doing gymnastics almost year-round, I was 160lbs. Even after bicycling for nine months all throughout Oxford and only eating food that I could carry home from the grocery store on my back and my handlebars, I weighed 155lbs. I wish I could find the photo of myself from that time. I looked skinny.

Now the doc wants me to weigh 120lbs?!? I asked him if we could think about the 140-145lb range and he said that might work. That would mean that I'm only halfway through my weight loss journey. It's taken me a year to get here, but I feel like my weight loss is accelerating. While the doc was poking around under my skin, he put another cc of saline into my band. That puts me up to 8cc's of fill. According to the all-knowing Wikipedia, bands can hold up to 12cc's of fluid. I think at that point, your upper stomach is either so stretched out that you can eat whatever you want or you are putting all your food into a blender and drinking it through a straw. A very small straw.

I know that I'll adjust to my current restriction, but wow, it's intense. I'm actually afraid to eat in front of anyone in a social situation because of how little I can actually eat. The best surprise came when I sat down when my new friend (I'll call him Mr. Grinch, which I mean as a compliment). I told him that I had lap band surgery and he said he did as well. Then we proceeded to take two hours to finish lunch! It was fantastic. I had never shared a meal with someone that had the same level of restriction that I had. I can't say enough how great it was! I knew exactly what was going on when he stopped talking, stopped eating, and just sat there. I was like, "Oh yeah. You're trying not to puke! Wait...do you need me to slide out of the booth? Are you sure? For real, I'll move."

So...the question is, for anyone that knows me or maybe jumps on a scale themselves from time to time, does 140 seem like a good goal for me? Too skinny or not skinny enough?

Even More About the Red Dress

I realized after re-reading my original post that it made it seem like I would be wearing Jenny's original dress. That is not so. You see, so many women have been inspired by the story of the traveling red dress that women from all over the world started sending them to other women who needed to feel beautiful and powerful. They started a facebook page and women began meeting each other through the power of social media. I don't know how much information my dress owner wants me to share here, but I can tell you that she and I have never met, she seems like an amazing human being, and there are too many states for me to remember between Texas and Virginia.

And the dress! It's like nothing I would have ever purchased for myself, but I think that's the point of the project. It's red and glittery, almost like a red disco ball without mirrors. Here is a picture of the back:

 I'm pretty sure that scoop is too low for a bra, but I fixed the problem by buying a small, balero-type black cardigan. I'm also hoping that will help camouflage my giant arms. I can't tell you the last time a thin, strappy dress was on my body for just this reason.

Here is the front:

See? It's glittering and fabulous. The dress owner was also kind enough to send me a card, that somehow perfectly fit exactly what I was feeling when I opened the package:

Just in case you can't read it, it says, "Life is full of pain, misery,

Just in case you can't read it, it says, "Life is full of pain, misery, disaster, disease, sadness, tragedy, malevolent rabbits (I think that's what it says, I'll have to find the card again to double check), anger, violence, death....But this little owlie's awesomeness negates all that."

And so it did. I'm to the point in my life, my career, and my volunteerism, where it feels like everyone wants to take something from me or use something that I foolishly offer. I'm fostering a puppy (a puppy!) for Seven and, sure, the dog is cute, but wow, I had no idea how hard it would be to house train a 3 month-old puppy. She pees in her crate, she pees in my bedroom, she poops either two feet in front of the door or two feet outside the door, and she fights with Sam constantly. Dinner time for all three animals in the house makes me feel like I'm running an animal shelter. Everyone is crying and whining about me not getting them their food fast enough.

Then there is a problem with my meds. I have some medication that I don't take every day (mostly because I would be in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness haze that I don't enjoy on a regular basis). Sometimes my friends ask me for my extra meds. I never sell them because that's clearly illegal and giving them away is only, what? Partially illegal. I don't know. It's a grey area for me. The problem is when my friends start requesting meds that I take every day because I need them. One of them is a controlled substance that requires me to get a written prescription every month. Someone came over to my house and left the next morning. About twenty minutes after she had left, I got a text saying, "Oh, I forgot to get one of your XXXX. I guess you forgot to give it to me". I was floored. I don't give out that med and I in no way forgot to give one to her. I'm not a pharmacist. I'm not even a physician's assistant. I have what I have because I need it.

So I was feeling used in every way and then I got this wonderful package that was sent specifically for me, to make me feel better. I almost started crying. Someone, a stranger, was thinking about me when it felt like no one else in my life was. It was beautiful.

My Red Dress

Let me put this into context: I came home after the kind of day that made me want to crawl into bed, pull the covers up, and hide from the world. When I came into my bedroom, I found a box. Clicker must have picked it up from my front porch and brought it inside. As soon as I saw it, I knew. I knew that my traveling red dress had come. I almost cried.

If you haven't been following the Traveling Red Dress Project on the web, start with the link to The Bloggess. Then check out the follow-up to her original post. With the first red dress, Jenny (The Bloggess) wrote, "I want, just once, to wear a bright red, strapless ball gown with no apologies. I want to be shocking, and vivid and wear a dress as intensely amazing as the person I so want to be."

Then she got the strapless red ball gown and her friend photographed her in it. Then she sent the dress on a journey, from city to city, so other women could experience the unadulterated joy that she experienced. She asked women to tell her if they needed to celebrate, to feel beautiful, to mark a struggle through depression, cancer, or a divorce. I sent a note saying that I would like to celebrate losing 50 lbs after lap band surgery and a wonderful woman from Fairfax, Virginia said she would happily ship me out a dress.

My photography shoot is scheduled for Sunday, February 18th and I can't wait. More details to come...

Let me be very clear

It's not often that I repeat the title of my post in the first sentence of my post, but let me be very clear here: This is my blog. This is the most self-absorbed way that I have to communicate and express myself. Occasionally I think about making it private and just writing it for myself, but I love the online community that I've built through blogging and I wouldn't want them to make their blogs private, so I don't make mine.

I can't make it anymore crystal clear that this is MY blog. I solely control the content, design, and language. This is my space on the Internet and I suggest that if you don't like what you read, that you hit the back button on the top of your browser and never come back. In fact, I would say that if you know me offline and refuse to talk to me, that you are better off not reading what I have to say. I can actually guarantee that. Don't read what I have to say and then be too chicken shit to comment on it. This is my forum and I will defend it, fiercely.

You see? I've got a lot invested in this whole blogging thing. I have seven years invested in blog archives and I still enjoy what I do. I wouldn't write if I didn't enjoy it. But facebook has changed everything. Suddenly, when I post my blog link to facebook, everyone that I know in real life gets a window into a world that I normally keep very secret.

So, let me apologize. I will make you a deal: I won't write about you if you don't read what I write. Let's call it a truce. But let me be very clear, this is my blog. There is a reason they call blog readers "visitors".

Alone (I mean really, really alone)

It all started off as such a normal day. I went to work and Zac went to school. I had no idea that I would be getting a surprised text from my wonderful nanny. She said simply, "Hey! Call me!" in her text, with two exclamation points, no less. I was driving at the time, but still dug out my phone to call her. "The electricity is out  in the house," she calmly told me. I asked if anyone else's electricity was out on the street. "Maybe a breaker box blew," I reasoned. She checked with the neighbors and they had electricity. I told her to go check my breakers. She reported back that everything was in the on position. Then it occurred to me. I had changed electricity providers in October and there was a lag before they sent me my first bill. I got a bill due in December. Either I was in denial about the bill, or I misplaced the bill, or I'm a complete fucking idiot, I don't. The point is that the bill didn't get paid.

Then I got another bill in early January that was all happy and normal and said (I'm paraphrasing) "Sure, you were late on your December bill. Just pay the December bill and your January bill with this convenient 5% late payment fee, and we'll forgive everything. Cross our heart". So I believed them. I get paid on January 30th. I was like, "If I time this perfectly...if I write a check three days before it is due, then it will be processed on the day that I get my direct deposit and all will be forgiven.

What I didn't know was that they had send a disconnection on January 3rd. A disconnection notice that I never got. I'm going to give the company a free pass and say, "Maybe I didn't check the mail. Maybe it got lost in the 25 years worth of mail that I get from the previous owner. Maybe I just lost my f*cking mind" I don't know what happened. All I know is that on January 23rd, the power was off.

Do you know what it's like for a Financial Advisor to realize that they have messed up their bills to the point that a utility gets turned off? I'll let the irony sink in because it didn't escape me. I started crying and as Oprah would say, it was an ugly cry. I felt like a failure, not only as a Mom that couldn't even cook dinner for her son, but as a professional. I felt like a fraud. So I cried. I called Seven and let her talk me down from the edge of anxiety and depression.

I had two choices at that point: I could go home and try to scrounge up candles and flashlights and live on peanut butter and jelly until I found the money, or I could pack a suitcase and load up my Saturn with an enormous dog, my kid, and two suitcases. Yes, I'm not proud. In fact, I would challenge someone to find me a single Mom that has any amount of pride left. I tucked my tail between my legs, wiped the mascara off my face, and drove my ass to my parents house. Clicker came over to my house and took all the food I had in my fridge and freezer. Then I cried some more and went to bed at 9:30pm.

After paying December's bill, the disconnection fee, and the outrageous reconnection fee with money that wasn't mine, my electricity is back on. Zac, Sam, and I are back home tonight. When I was packing up my suitcase, my Dad said something along the lines of, "All these years, I've been waiting for you find your one, but it hasn't happened."

Alone. My Dad called me out for being alone. For not having someone that could make it alright when the power went dark. For not having someone that could hold me while I was crying. Alone.

I don't know if I've ever been more alone than I've been in the past two days.

Burning Bowl

I don't know how Officer Hotness and Chaps make me do it, but somehow, by some unknown, mystical force, I agree to leave my house and go somewhere other than work during weeknights. I can't really describe how much of a hermit I am Sunday-Thursday. Those are Zac's days. Those are the days that I work, eat, parent, eat, and sleep. In that order. Prior to the past month, there has been little to no deviation in that routine.

Here it is on Thursday and I've been social twice this week. Last night I went to one of the worst open mic nights that my ears have ever had to experience. Then tonight I went to Chuck E Cheese with, who else, Officer Hotness, her kiddo, my kiddo, and Chaps, who doesn't have a kid, but might as well at this point. I was there for over two hours. We saw Chuck E dance two times. Two! That big rat can shuffle like no body's business. I think Chaps was only tempted to shoot the rat once when he surprised her the first time.

We all had our own plans for Friday and Saturday night, so I suggested Sunday. Again, let me empathize. Never before in Zac's six year history on this planet have I suggested hanging out on a Sunday after 3pm. Never.

On Sunday at 5:30pm, the four of us are all to arrive at Officer Hotness' house for a Burning Bowl ceremony. You can blame google for coming up with that name. Then they looked at me. What was I going to burn? I'm pretty sure a blank look crossed my face. I started taking a mental inventory of house, scanning from room to room in my mind. Everything I could think of, I owned and had no lingering emotional attachments to anyone else. Sure, my couch has been sat on by people that have hurt me, but I can't burn my couch. I don't have papers, photographs, or mementos from relationships past that conjure up...well...anything, because they don't exist. Clicker once wrote me a letter saying how proud he was of me, but it has been lost in move and I wouldn't want to burn it anyways. He's my best friend. I have nothing, but some lingering resentment towards my MBA professors and their idea of "appropriate" reading.

It didn't even occur to me until I got home. Oh, I have some things to burn. Some things that our powerfully significant to me and shaped how I felt throughout out October, November, and most of December. Those things weren't at home, though, which is why they didn't come up in the initial registry. I keep them at work. I want to look into a bon fire and rip into tiny pieces the words that remind me of that period of self-doubt, stress, and mental instability. I let someone knock me off my game. I'm bitter that it happened, but I'm stronger now. So I'm going to burn the papers that remind of those months. Those damn months when I questioned my career choice, my choice in friends and confidantes, and myself. It's those memories that I will burn on Sunday and with my kid sitting next to me on a school night, I will be thankful to be surrounded by love and support. But mostly, it will feel just so damn good to let go.

Don't Try This At Home: 2

Of course, there is a downside to writing. There are people that I hurt; feelings that are abused with a misplaced comma or paraphrased quotation. But mostly, there is the cowardice. It's so much easier to write than it is to ask the question and listen through uncomfortable answers. My words block out the sound of other people's words while I'm typing, at least momentarily. It's by far the most self-absorbed act that I could thrust onto the hemisphere.

So when I can no longer write, I read. A non-reader will never fully understand what a reader sees in books. Trust me, I've dated too many non-readers to not fully comprehend this phenomenon. They don't understand the connection anymore than I understand a connection to a video game or to sports team. When I read a book, I get to enter another person's mind for an hour, a day, a week. I inhabit their thoughts and feel their characters. They carefully construct the plot and narrative for my, what seems like, exclusive enjoyment. I, the reader. Any reader. I am both annonymous and highly unique. So, tonight, I read.

Don't Try This At Home

Last night I was sitting around with some new friends, The (Hot) Officer and Chaps (who would like to be referred to as WildCat, but let's be honest, we don't always get to pick our nicknames in life. Note the oblique reference to me being called "BJ" for the first 10 years of my life).  These two women collectively own more guns than a small Montana militia, yet they warm the very marrow of my bones. I was sitting listening to Officer Hotness play her acoustic guitar and sing last night and thought that maybe I had gotten the short end of the artistic stick. I can't sing well, I definitely can't play guitar, and "Chopsticks" is as far as I can go on the piano. In between songs, I lamented: "All I can do is write, and that's never gotten me any women". She then told me that, much to my surprise, very few women had fallen captive to her musical charms. Chaps said that it was especially hard for her to woo women on a set of drums, which we collectively agreed would be difficult for no other reason than the approximate distance you would have to sit to watch a drum player work her magic. 

Then I wondered what kind of cold-hearted bastards Officer Hotness had been singing to. Is there anything sexier than a woman singing with an acoustic guitar? If I'm not careful, I'm going to become a coffee shop groupie. If only I could sit drinking espresso in a coffee house chair typing out on my laptop about my most personal feelings. Good thing I don't drink espresso and the comfortable chairs are always taken at coffee houses, but oh, what a cliche a could be. It's a slippery slope. I would be embarrassed to know me. But writing is what I do and it's not as easy as you might think. Writing a self-confessing blog about intimate details of my life may look like fun and games, but I'm wracked with self-doubt and questions. "Did I share too much? Did I share enough to be interesting? Have I asked enough hypothetical questions to drive my readers absolutely crazy? Three in a row - that's pretty good. Let's stop there. Clearly a paragraph break is in order".

Sometimes I'm startled about the conclusions that I come to at the end of a post. My fingers write themselves with a clarity that my conscious mind can't seem to muster. So I write. That is my art. I am a writer. I'm also an exceptionally good reader, but that's not really a participatory sport, so let's just stay with writing.

For a while, I was paid to write and, like most things, the act of getting paid to write on a deadline killed any sense of joy that I felt from the spontaneous act. They I started my degree and got a job where I sat in front of a computer and worked in Excel all day, every day, and occasionally talked to people on the phone. The only way that I got through that job was by putting in my headphones and listening to hard core rap. Listening to Jay-Z and Eminem rap about the gangster life and how hard it is to stay authentic in suburban America matched my soul-crushing angst.

Now when I'm at work I listen to Deb Talan or Indigo Girls radio on Pandora, trying to soothe away my stress in between my calls to strangers. It's been a slow process coming back to my writing, but I feel it lingering. It will be seven years in February that I moved to Texas and started my blog. Happy (early) anniversary to me.

Fear

I've been reading comments about my last post and I really had no idea that so many people from high school, college, and Houston would read what I wrote on my blog. Let's just catch everyone up to speed, m'kay. I started blogging seven years ago when I moved to Texas. I was pregnant with Zac (who I called Peanut at the time). The archives for that blog can be found here: http://www.pregnantblogger.blogspot.com/. I'm pretty sure that I started blogging under the name, "Pregnant in Texas" before I realized that was more of a temporary condition than a blog name might suggest. Then I switched to "Not So Pregnant in Texas". At some point, when I cared about unique page views and readers, I moved over to my own domain name. Then my boss read my blog after an unfortunate google search and I took everything down. At some later arbitrary point, I started this blog and here I am. If you were bored reading that last paragraph, don't worry, the feeling was mutual.

Anyways, my point before I got mired in seven years of history, was that I was terrified that I had made a huge mistake. I kept reading about how people thought I was brave and authentic and I kept thinking, "Do these people realize who they are talking to? I'm the antithesis of brave."  I started thinking about everyone that I was friends with, including: Clicker's Mom, my Mom, my Dad, the FOB (Father of the Baby)'s sister, women from work, men from work, and my Great Aunt. Yeah, instead of having a lot of awkward, one-on-one conversations with people, (which is how I assume most people come out) I just let social media do the dirty work for me.

I'm still waiting for the backlash, which will only be felt in backhanded comments, silent, furious looks,  or words left unspoken because the world is too politically correct to publicly denounce a gay daughter/sister/friend/coworker/fill-in-title-here. It's much easier to just pass a law refusing my right to marry or have health benefits or my partner's Social Security.  *sigh*

I worried about the FOB's family trying to come and take Zac. Then I remembered that they've only met him once when he was a baby and I don't have a home telephone number so it would be difficult to contact me. Here is a fun tidbit of information about where I live: In Texas, second-parent adoptions of children with two gay parents can't be done in Harris County, where Houston is located. Families go to San Antonio in Bexar County to join together legally. That's over four hours away. Here's another fun tidbit: A Harris County Family Court judge made it a crime for a  same sex parent to spend time, alone, with his partner's biological children. There was no history of alleged sexual, physical, or emotional abuse. He was just refused the right to be alone with the children that he was helping to raise because of his sexuality *sigh*.

Then there is work. Work, work, work. I work a lot and I try to find ways to write about work in the most obscure ways possible, which isn't easy. Work dominates my life and I'm expressly forbidden to share my feelings on "social media that might be read by clients, prospects, or business partners". Let me give you an example: I was sitting in my cube one day about two months ago and I got a call. The person on the other end of the phone call had googled my name and my company's name. Google came back with upteen million hits, but the first seven links correctly referred to me and my job. Three of the websites that contained my information were put together by third-party distributors who had gotten my licensing information through the Freedom of Information Act. I was told to remove the profile of me that I didn't create and then remove the link on Google. I'll wait why you digest that. Has anyone tried to remove a link or reference to a link on Google lately? I've insurance companies approve surgeries easier than I could remove links. I tried, though. Oh sweet baby God, I tried. I tried for six hours and I'm too afraid to try the search again to see what comes up.

So there's that. I'm a blogger, working at a company that actively discourages blogging, and what I really want to write about is what it's like to be a female advisor in this industry, but, I can't. I can't wait for the day that the same person calls me up to talk about this piece. I can't wait to explain what a "cache" is and how I can't remove it from the mystical land where Internets live.

My point, which I swear I left somewhere around this place, is that I wanted to say thank you for the kind comments, both here and on Facebook . I'm not brave at all. I'm still terrified, but the feeling is subsiding as more and more days pass and the sky hasn't rained with the blood of baby lams and throng of wasps. I'm here. Doing better than just fine. Feeling pretty good, actually. So thank you.

If Only This Blog Had an About Me Section

There is a lot that I need to come out about before I start this post. My fear with this blog has always been (and continues to be), "What if XXX reads it and won't care for me anymore?" or "What if I embarrass my parents (again) and it hurts them?" I have no real way to answer either question, but at some point, I can feel things building up inside me and my desire to spill out my ever-loving guts on the Internet comes busting out. So, without further ado....

1) I'M HERE AND I'M QUEER!

That's the first part that I need to come out about. After my relationship with Clicker ended, I moved into my house and things just felt different. Although I lie in bed at night and worry that I won't have enough money and will be forcibly evicted from my house, I feel more settled here in a way that's hard to explain. I look around my house, constantly amaze, and think, "Hell ya. This shit is MINE!" I've even changed my sleeping habits. I used to sleep curled up on the far right hand side of my bed, but now I sleep in the middle or diagonally across the whole thing. I think the whole process of sleeping as if I owned the bed (which I do) confuses my cat to no end, but I'm getting off point here. My point is that I moved into my house and the way I look at life started to change. I realized that I can take control of my happiness and not leave it up to fate, bad first dates, or my fear of being 'outed' as a bad daughter, woman, lover, mother, and co-worker.

The me that I am, that I've always been, has wanted to be with women - even though they are all bat-shit crazy and turn me bat-shit crazy, but that's another post all together. Let me go onto point number two that I want to come out about and you'll see how this all ties in together:

2)   I WANT ANOTHER BABY!

Whew, I'm glad I got that off my chest. There are a lot of guilt issues with me being a single Mom and knowing that my friends and family will most certainly not support the expansion of my family has been difficult.

So, there it is: I'm gay, single, raising an amazing six year-old, and constantly worrying about money. The only way I can stack this less in my favor would be if I had a physical or mental disability. I guess that would make the situation worse. Or I could hate babies. That would certainly put a damper on the "I want another baby" outing party.

Sometimes well meaning friends will tell me that I need to seriously consider having another baby again, by myself (again), and what that would mean to my family. As much as I love my friends, that question is total bullshit. Would I even be bringing up something like another baby if I hadn't already put serious thought behind it? In the six and a half years that Zac has been on this Earth, have I ever, ever mentioned wanting to gestate another human being by myself? That's a definite no to both questions. Never before in my writing or personal conversations have I talked about how or why I feel like this is a necessary part of my life.

I can even feel now that I'm failing to adequately express the complex emotions that would go into a decision like this. I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to, but I at least needed to put it out there that there that I think about it a lot, especially since I found out my company covers fertility treatments at 100% on our health insurance.

If either of these two bold (with exclamation points!!) announcements cause you to love or respect me less, then I'm sorry. I still love and respect you. Maybe one day you can open your heart and embrace all of me. Until then, I'll be waiting.

Year in Review

Yes, I'm still among the living. Occasionally, I even blog (although not often). Another year has gone by and since yesterday was my birthday (31!), I thought I'd do a year in review. Since my memory isn't nearly good enough to remember everything, I'll just go for the highlights and lowlights.

Highlights:

I became a Financial Advisor! I passed my Series 7 in January 2011 and passed my Series 66 and Insurance exams in February. I had some early success with my job, although I'm told at least two or three times a day that I'm not to talk about it in any social media forum. Consider this my way of not talking about it.

I've lost 45 lbs through lap band surgery on February 24, 2011:

There have been a lot of ups and downs with my post surgical stomach and life style. I can eat very, very little pasta and bread. Rice is a little dicey and any kind of gourmet food can make me sick after a couple of bits. I've never puked as much as I have since February (see lowlights), but I've made progress toward my weight loss goal.

I bought a house on July 29, 2011:

and I have remodeled and redecorated just about every room in the house. Here are some before and after photos:

Who could forget that awesome wall paper that I took down. This was my absolute first project in the house. Here's a close-up of the most awesome border ever:

Now the kitchen looks like this:

I also painted my fireplace white and destroyed the main bathroom (literally). I'll save those for another post.

We adopted Sam, who is so much happier in the house than she was in the apartment. I personally love that she blends in with my new shag carpet:

She's also getting ready for our first Christmas in our house (with a cameo from Clicker):

Zac started a new school on September 2, 2011. He had a hard time adjusting to his new school, but I think he's finally settled down. Knowing that we'll be in this house for at least the next seven years has helped. He has made friends with the four kids that live on our street and he's doing unbelievably well in his Gifted and Talented class. He's learning faster than I can keep up.

Lowlights:

Puking after every other meal. Literally. I puke so much that I'm starting to worry about tooth erosion. Once I start to get used to how much I can eat at any given meal, I get the band filled and all hell breaks out. I've also only lost 45lbs and I seem to be stuck at this weight. Exercise and fewer cheetos might be in order. I'm worried about getting the band filled more than 8cc's because I already have such food restrictions, but I may have to see my doctor again soon.

I didn't see my sister this year. She's in her third year of medical school in Maine and going on rotations in New Hampshire. The more she interacts with the general public, the better her stories get. I wish she and Zac could hang out. I hope they can see each other soon and I can get to spend some time with her.

All of October and most of November. Seriously. I wish that I could talk about it, especially here.

I lost a good friend. I can't mention her name in this forum, but I lost someone in my life and it's been difficult. I've mentioned several times that I don't have many friends in Texas, so to lose such a good friend, well, I continue to struggle with it.

Neighborhood bullies. Zac doesn't have a "Dad" that lives with us and some of the punks in the neighborhood tease him about it. To avoid further teasing about it, he told his first grade teacher that his Dad died when he was 3. We're in therapy now, although I'm not a huge fan of the therapist. Zac seems to like him though.

Love. Lot's of confusion over love this year. There have been some highlights, but a lot of lowlights as well.

Sam's need to chew and dig holes. I have gopher-sized holes in my backyard where she tries to attack the roots growing under the ground. The one next to the foundation is particularly worrisome. She's also eaten four pairs of high heels, to date, and two cherished, childhood ornaments that my Grandma made.

Here is to 2012!

Better (A Little)

Saying that I'm better is basically wishing that a giant asteroid would hit my head and destroy my house. I don't actually want that so I'll hedge my bets by saying that I'm a little better. The great sadness has mostly left me, although occasionally I don't want to leave the house, but I'm told that's normal. I'm going to so much therapy that it would pain me to actually talk about. Even better, the nicest improvement is that I can be at work without crying or constantly eyeing the exits, wishing that I had enough courage to run sprinting out the door instead of sitting miserably in my desk chair.

There have been a lot of trying times that I'm trying to put past me. There have been romantic, interpersonal, and professional struggles that are all still there to a degree, but ultimately, I am feel better.

Just felt like I should update and say that out loud (err..in my head, I mean).

I'm going on a date tonight with someone that makes me very happy to be around. It's like going on a little vacation because I forget all my troubles when I'm around them. I literally don't do any housework or spend anytime worrying about money (one of my least favorite past times that I seem to do quite a bit of. See: never leaving the house when upset).

I do want to tell you about this dog of mine, known as Samantha - or Sam for short. Sam is a holy terror. She sleeps in a crate and goes to the bathroom outside (at least 65% of the time, or so)

She looks all cute and cuddly in this picture, but that's before she's gained 15 pounds and decided that rules are for suckers. When I forget to put her in a crate before I take a nap, I wake up to a house that has been completely decimated. Everything in chewing reach has been chewed to oblivion and scattered through the living room, bedroom, and dining room. At last count, she has completely destroyed and/or eaten: half a bottle of Elmer's Glue, 32 crayons, a sponge, a shower scrub, every piece of newspaper or copy paper in the house, 4 stuffed animals not-so-lovingly donated by Zac, rope, curtain pulls, socks, wooden train tracks, and so many other items that I can't stop to think about right now because I might banish her outside.

This guy loves her, though:

He tells me at least once a night what a good dog Sam is. For me, I never knew that dog ownership could be quite so...destructive. Sam is fiercely loyal and protective of her family, almost to the point that I have to put her outside to answer the door when someone comes over because I'm afraid that she'll rip out their jugular before they have time to slip her a treat.

Let's not even talk about the dog's relationship to the cat. My cat, Piper, is queen of the household and knows it. She hisses and bats at Sam whenever the dumb dog tries to lick Piper on the head or play with her. Those two are going to run the shag carpets in this house with their tangle of claws. Piper usually looks to me for protection and has been known to leap long distances to avoid walking on the floor where the dreaded dog is. You've never seen a happy cat than the one that comes up on my bed at night and demands to be petted, once Sam is in her crate. Seriously.

Raising a family of four, even when two of them are animals, can be tough. I feel like I'm in a never ending game of the "Farmer and Dell" and sometimes I wonder if I'm the cheese that the mouse takes at the end. If the boy takes the dog and the dog takes a cat, I'd like to think I'm Brie or Gouda - something fancy at least.

A Heaviness

I'm not sure what is going on with me (other than my computer seems to be boycotting the "t" button on the keyboard, which is frustrating). I hate that work has such a hold over me, but as I sit in my 1980's house that was decorated by an octogenarian, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to be able to keep enjoying my shag carpeting. Everything is fleeting and I was never confident that I could stay in house. It was too tenuous, too much of a risk for a single woman with a child.

Now I don't want to get out of bed. I think, "if I stay in bed, I can stop time. I can live inside my own brain and not have to interact with anyone. I can exist". Let's be honest. This is an improvement over where I've been recently in my life - when existing seemed harder than not existing. Now I can continue as long as I'm unconscious.

Going to work in the mornings is getting harder and harder. I'm not sure what to do. Just sleep I suppose. Sleep and therapy and maybe some soft blankets and old stuffed animals.

In the Market

I've sat on this blog post for a couple of days, which must mean that I'm maturing a bit because normally I would have just let it fly on the Internet and see where everything landed. Although my job constantly reminding me about our "social media" policies where I'm forbidden to talk about work and warned against "posting overly personal information" might have something to do with this.

Let's see...what can I tell you? I broke a handful of rules at work and I thought I was going to be fired. I actually broke rules that I didn't even know were rules. That's not surprising given how highly regulated the finance industry is. I sometimes wonder if I should get approval before e-mailing. So, my boss was out of the office for a week and that entire week I was convinced that he was going to come back and fire me. I do an amazing impersonation of Chicken Little.  I'm told that I'm overly dramatic for no reason. I think it has more to do with being fired or asked to quit from more jobs than I can shake a stick at.

I actually received a written warning and I've decided to continue on at the firm where I'm working. It's a great firm and a great opportunity, but there's another problem (there always is, right? If there weren't, what on Earth would anyone blog about).

I've been at this firm for about a year. I'm starting to get comfortable at work with my coworkers, but if I've learned anything about myself it's that I have absolutely no tact or sense of foreboding. Basically, I jump before I think - in regards to everything, particularly to personal relationships. I suck and I'm shocked that anyone ever wants to be friends with me. I can't tell you how many times I've had to apologize for being myself. Here's the cycle: I get comfortable and stop faking or monitoring my actions or reactions; I stick my neck out and do something that I'll later categorize as "stupid"; I realize that it's stupid because I hurt the people around me or make them think that I don't have a lick of common sense; I apologize; I go back to faking my actions and reactions. The cycle goes on and on.

For everyone that says "just be yourself and everything will be ok" hasn't had to apologize for being themselves as much as I have. Just saying. I don't know where you learn common sense for relationships, but I'd like to. Any ideas? I'm in the market, in more ways than one.

Oh right

It's 7:30pm and I'm outside sitting on my new patio furniture (that have cushions and everything!), typing in the dark, waiting for Zac to get home from baseball practice. To put this mildly, I have had a bad day. I started crying on the way home while talking to Clicker as he was getting ready to go network with airplane pilots and enthusiasts. I, meanwhile, am thinking about how nice these chairs will be when my home is foreclosed on. At least I'll have somewhere comfortable to sit on the corner underneath the freeway. Yeah...it's been that kind of day.

Here's the round-up from this weekend:

1) Got dumped
2) Got laughed out
3) Got bitched out by a husband because his wife yelled at him
4) Worried that I was being treated differently because of who I want to date
5) Tried unsuccessfully to recruit 50 or so people into my networking group so I can rejoin.
6) Had a massive case of paranoia hit me in waves.
7) Took my computer outside with blatant disregard of South Texas mosquitos.

So, I was dating someone. We went out five times and I'm too scared to even talk about it on my computer. I guess it doesn't matter. I liked the person and now it's over. Back to the single life, although I could really use a pep talk because coming home alone tonight was very, very tough.

When I'm not getting put through the ringer personally, I'm getting it professionally. Sometimes (well, most times) I worry that I don't have enough self-esteem to handle my job. Actually, it's the rejection at the job that revolves around the job that I worry about. Sometimes I can't even pick up the phone to dial because I can sense the rejection. As my recent history clearly indicates, I like to reject myself before others have the chance.

Now I'm home and life with the 8cc of fill in my band is challenging. I've lost 40lbs, but the amount of food I can eat is so small and I get so sick quickly. I get nervous about eating. Right now I'm really hungry, which is a recipe (pun intended) for disaster. So I have to decide: do I just stay hungry or try to eat slowly and try to not get sick?

I need a damn hug.

Heaps O'Stress

You know how sometimes people create drama? Like if there is none in their life then they go out and meet a couple of random people who show up at their house all drugged up and they end up having to call the cops, but not before someone's ex shows up and threatens to beat up everyone? I've never done that or even come close, but I'm starting to wonder if I may have a similar tendencies.

I just finished my masters program. Life should be simpler, easier - but it's not. I work more, for starters. Every week I put in about 50 hours, sometimes more depending on how much I network and if it's at night or early in the morning. I got a house that scares the crap out of me. I actually asked my boss today if I could get a second job to help afford this place, but I was told no. My firm interprets FINRA rules to say that advisors can't earn income anywhere outside of the firm. I guess I can understand that you don't really want someone to solicit your business if they are ringing you up at Pier One on the weekends, but still.


So, that sucks. Every budget in the world can't make someone feel more confident when they can see disaster on the horizon. The irony  that I'm a Financial Advisor does not escape me. Don't worry, I feel properly humbled.
 
There is just something wrong. Most of the time I can't even put my finger on it. I'm losing clumps of hair at night and in the shower, presumably from stress and/or poor nutrition. I cry a lot. I was admitted to the ER with chest pains that turned out to be no form of cardiac event that any test could detect. I've seen specialists. I've asked about my hormones and vitamins. I'm on a "wait and see" regimen with all of them. It's frustrating. I'm a do-er and I get the distinct feeling that I'm doing something wrong or even just merely not doing something right.

and don't even get me started on dating. and the dog that keeps eating my high heels, even when I put them in my room and "close" the door (note to self: figure out a way to lock the master bedroom from the outside). The dog also constantly chases the cat in a carnival rendition of the "Farmer and the Dell" every hour that they are both awake. and I never expected that living in double the space would make my life feel more empty.

hmm...that's something to think about. Thanks for letting me have this, albeit, one-sided conversation. I feel a little bit better now.

Round Up

Sorry that it's been so long since I've posted...there has been a lot going on in my life. Let me see if I can catch you up on the high and lowlights:

• I've lost 32 lbs to date. My band is pretty tight and it really restricts what I can eat. I'm slowly getting used to it. I'd like to lose another 8 lbs before graduation on August 6th in New Orleans, LA. Speaking of that...

• I'm graduating with my MBA in Finance and Management from Tulane University in two weeks. I'm very excited to make this officially since we stopped doing academic work back in June after the trip to China. 

• Work as a Financial Advisor is going really well. I'm getting new clients and working on honing my investment skills. Most days, I love my job and I don't mind that I put in 50-55 hours a week. It really is very rewarding and I'm glad I switched careers.

• In personal financial news...I BOUGHT A HOUSE! WOO HOO!!!. I close July 29th on a beautiful, charming house that is a little further south from where I live now. It's 7 miles from work. It took every piece of credit, blood, sweat, tears, and savings that I could come up with, but it will soon be mine. Here are the details: It was originally priced at $129,999. I got it for $126,000 with a $4,500 seller's contribution to closing. I used a first-time home buyer's program through HUD at got 3% of my downpayment covered and a 4.75% interest rate on a 30-year loan. The house is 1830 sq ft, three bedrooms, formal dining and living room, covered patio, large trees in the backyard and no back neighbors (I back up to a "bayou" aka: a drainage ditch). I'll post pictures soon. I had to come up with .5% of the down payment and the rest of the closing costs not covered by the seller. Total out of pocket was $2,991.

• I'm still single after ending things with Clicker about six weeks ago. He has moved to Clear Lake for his job and we see each other quite a bit. He asked me out on a date last night and I went. It was very sweet. He's outside in the 100 degree heat trying to sell my car. I appreciate him so much for that, especially because I'm indoors in his apartment, on his computer!

• Zac is doing awesome, as always. He's taking swim lessons and learning how to hit a golf ball with my Dad. Unfortunately, his FOB...

• Called me at work and asked if I could lower his child support payments (I can't) and sign away his parental rights since he has only seen Zac once and doesn't want to accrue any more back child support from not paying the full amount every month. I responded furiously that I would continue to pursue him to the full extent of the law and that he should get used to paying the full amount of child support since he would be paying until Zac was 18, and then after that for all the back child support.

That's about everything. I'm sitting here (supposedly) studying with Clicker. I have a Certified Financial Planner examination on Financial Planning and Clicker is studying for his Series 7 license. It feels good to have a study buddy.