Category Archives: women

Overcome…

This week has been incredibly overwhelming for me.  Personally, professionally and emotionally.  I am drained.  I am tired.  I am exasperated.  And more than anything…

I am overcome.

After many years, a friendship was ended…mutually, after nearly 40 years.  We didn’t decide to just release one another but rather, it ended in an incredibly ugly fashion with sarcasm, bitter words, name calling and scathing accusations.  She wasn’t listening to me.  I wasn’t listening to her.  We both struggled to be heard, but the louder the words became,  the more they fell on deaf ears.  This person was gone to me for a very long time.  From the time I was 14 years old actually.  We reunited back in 2002.  For six years, it was wonderful.  We shared each others homes, hearts and secrets.  She entered my life during a very volatile time with my husband (yes, once upon a time, things were not all hearts and flowers between the Princess and the Hotband.)  She got me through a lot of rough years.  I will always be appreciative of that.  Then, Facebook comes along.  Old friends enter the picture.  Worse yet, new friends enter the picture and slowly the chasm grows.  We start realizing how different we are.  Subtle changes at first give way to more blatant, outward changes.  Statements that would once be taken in jest were no longer amusing.  The differences become more noticeable, not only to us, but to our mutual friends.  Bickering begins.  Nit-picky small things at first slowly give way to all out lunges at each others throats.  Diplomacy is suddenly lost on both of us.  She is asking me to change who I am.  I am telling her accept me as I am.  She calls me a liar.  I call her varying degrees of the word “bitch”.  She tells me she is blocking me from her feed.  I eventually block her from my “friends list”.  Sarcastic nasty notes are exchanged and suddenly, it is 1980.  We are two teenage girls, snarling at one another in the school yard, throwing down our books as the crowd forms a circle around us.  Sides are chosen.  Friendships are irretrievably broken. Alliances are formed.

Only this time, there is no teacher to step in, to intervene.  We are left to our own devices, both of us too afraid to have this discussion by phone…so we are relegated to nasty Facebook messages saying things that we more than likely wouldn’t dare to say to each other if we were face to face.

It was exhausting.  And now, it is over.

I have opted not to discuss this with our mutual friends.  She, however, has been talking about this non-stop.  The chitter chatter of the spies still running back and forth between us, like little electrical synapses firing off, one after the other.  I just want to be free of it already.  I wanted this year to start differently rather than more of the same.

And while there is a part of me that is always going to mourn the loss of that friendship, I am trying to remember that there was a reason she walked into my life when she did after a 25 year separation.  I am grateful for the little girl I grew up with as much as I am grateful for the woman who held me in her arms as I sobbed over the pain my husband had caused me.  I would have loved to have shared another 40 years with her…but we grew up differently, our lives shaped by different events.  I am not who she remembers, nor who she wants me to be.  She is not who I remembered, nor who I wanted her to be.

But, for a short moment in time, we were everything to each other.  She held my hand in kindergarten sometimes.  She was always the braver and bolder one.  She had a silly laugh that carried over into her adult years, a giggle that would make you look into the eyes of this 40 year old woman and see the 6 year old within.  We couldn’t stop talking to one another and were placed on opposite sides of a classroom more times than I can count.  We crushed on the same boys.  She always won their hearts and I suppose I always envied that about her.  It always came so naturally for her.  I had to work so much harder to impress people.  Thus begun my extremely extroverted personality.  The outrageous things I would say and do.  She would always shake her curly head and laugh at me.  And I would smile, knowing my best friend approved of who I was, accepted me and loved me…even when I wasn’t in performance mode.  To everyone else, I was that crazy girl…but to her, I was just “CP”.  Or, as she put it, even in our 40’s, she would refer to me as…”my CP”.

And I was hers.  Unconditionally…and probably would have been for life had we not allowed the little things to pyramid to grandiose proportions and spin violently out of control.

In my heart, in my mind and in my soul…I will always remember the moment when we were 14 years old and hugging goodbye as my parents moved me out of the city and into the suburbs.  I never saw her again after that.  I will always remember her big brown eyes, her long curly hair and her lips, quivering from trying to hold back the tears of seeing a best friend disappear from her life.  That vision will help me handle what has happened between us, remove the ugliness that transpired on both our behalves and allow me to move forward into the new year without regrets or pain.

She will always be my very first best friend.  No amount of ugly will ever change that.

I’m willing to keep her there, in my heart, exactly that way.

Why women suck…

I have a lot of acquaintances. I have a lot of good acquaintances. I have some friends. Of those friends, most of them are male. There is a reason for that. The reason?

Most women suck.

I learned at a very early age that women tend to be spiteful, catty and malicious. Even when they are well intentioned, they can’t help speaking from a place of jealousy most of the time. I hesitate to use the word “envy”, because I tend to put a positive spin on that word. There are definitely things I envy about some of my friends. I envy my kid sisters gorgeous, thick brown hair and her insane ability to cook. I envy another friends gorgeous wardrobe. Still, another friend manages to make her life look so effortless and breezy easy. I don’t covet these things, but I sure as shit wish I knew how they do what they do and manage to do it with ease.

What I don’t do is begrudge my female friends their beauty, their strength or the wonderful things that happen in their lives.

It seems to me that when really great things happen in our female friends lives, we don’t entirely focus on their happiness, but rather, use it as a gauge to figure out exactly where we are on the scale of female perfection. I have been steadily working on that with myself. I try to realize that when enormously wonderful things happen to my girlfriends, it doesn’t mean I am less than. It only means I have yet another goal to strive towards.

Recently, a friend clued me in that someone I considered a friend, who I have known via the blog realm for nearly 5 years has been talking shit behind my back. Now, I am no stranger to criticism and back-stabbing. I’ve been hearing women talk shit about me since the day I was old enough to understand it. I’m okay with it. My mother always told me, feel bad for the girls who talk about you. It means they have nothing in their own lives worth talking about. One thing I can say about Esther, she sure knew how to make an impact on my tender pre-pubescent psyche.

Back to my point.

This “friend” tore me up in a letter? Email? Blog post? I’m not sure the medium. I didn’t ask. I frankly don’t care enough to ask. What I do know is I was chastised for the following:

1) I brag about my husband too much. I will reply to this with an “absofuckinglutely”. I do. My husband is awesome. He’s better than your husband. He’s better than you. He’s even better than me. I believe that the Christians have not yet realized that my husband IS the second coming of the Messiah that they have long been waiting for. Until they realize that, I will keep him as the best kept secret Judaism has ever seen since the burning bush. He loves me unconditionally, flaws and all. He loves my children as though they were bred from his loins. He has three jobs all to support my dream of heading back to school to do the work I long to do. He is a good friend to everyone who meets him. He is KIND. Like, “walk an old lady across the street while he pushes her stalled vehicle across three lanes of traffic” sort of kind. He is a devoted grandfather who cannot get enough of his grandkids. So, do I brag about him? Yes, because he is worthy of this praise and should have it heaped upon him every single day. And, yes, you should have to know that he is the reason I am happy. If you were really my friend, you would love that about him and be thrilled for me. Just because your husband hasn’t touched you since the new millennium began, don’t hate on me for it. Buy yourself a vibrator, dust out the old vag canal and handle your business.

2) I brag about my “things”. No. I don’t brag about my things. I tell people about my things because I want them to have similar things. Similarly, I expect to hear about YOUR things, because if you are happy with something…I would hope you would want me to have that same feeling. Do I get excited about an upcoming vacation? Certainly. Am I not allowed to voice that? Do I talk about my shoe obsession? Yes. And to someone who is not a shoe whore, I can see where that would be annoying. However, I don’t begrudge you your new breadmaker? Salad shooter? Curtains? Shop Vac? Whatever the fuck it is that brings you pleasure, I applaud it. I don’t get it. I don’t understand it. But, I do understand that whatever it is, it is making your life just a bucket of awesome, therefore, it is doing the same for me too.

3) I brag about my grandchildren. Wow. This one cracked my ass up. Is there a grandmother on the face of this earth who doesn’t do that? I’m sorry you didn’t produce children of your own who in turn will provide you with the joy of grandkids, but that is hardly my fault. My grandkids are amazing little creatures who change and grow every day. Every day they bring something new and fascinating into my life. I love this brand new aspect of my life. Do I tell you not to brag about your dogs? Cats? You say these are your “furry children”. Well then, act like it. Enjoy them. Have fun with them. Let them make you laugh…and in turn, share the funny with me! I’d love to hear it. No, really. I would. I’m not you.

There were other things, like for example, my coffee maker. Yes. My coffee maker. Sure, that goes under the category of “things”, but this one had to be separate because in this letter/email/blog post about me, it was a separate issue for this person as well. Apparently, the fact that my husband bought us an industrial sized Keurig was of grave concern to this person. So much so, that she went on to discuss why HER coffee maker was far more awesome.

I also brag about: My charity work. My writing gigs. (Really? I usually keep those kind of private). My grades. (Totally fuck you on this one. I work for those A’s, bitch. I work hard.) I can go on and on. It’s truly fucking laughable at this point.

Has it seriously come to this?

So, this is why women suck. We all have jealousies and insecurities. But, the measure of a good woman is the one who can put that on the back burner to allow for genuine happiness for a friends good fortune. And honestly, am I a braggart? I would suggest a thorough read of my blog would answer that for you. I have been through a LOAD of shit in my lifetime. Was I bragging about the losses I have suffered? The man who beat me relentlessly for 2 years? My past drug addiction? My struggle with bipolar disorder? No. Unless of course you are under the belief that I am one of those people who feels they have to “one up” everyone else’s sob stories. I don’t believe that’s me either. I’m just a real person. I talk. A lot. I talk about the good things in my life openly just the same way I talk about the not so good things. If it seems like there has been more of the former as of late, well, there has been. And honestly, I feel I have earned the good things that have come my way over the past few years.

I am a good person at heart. I love my family to the ends of the earth and would lay down and die for any of them. I am fervently devoted to my friends. (Is that bragging or is that simply a statement of fact? I think the lines are starting to blur for me). I think I am smart, funny, confident, interesting and damn beautiful to look at. Oh, and I have a great rack. Again, not bragging…it just is what it is. The other day, I happened upon this quote:

There’s no such thing as bragging. You’re either lying or telling the truth.

I know I’m telling the truth. And sometimes, sister, the truth hurts…especially when it reflects your own personal truth right back at you and you don’t like what you see. For that reason alone, I forgive you. I hope you are strong enough to forgive yourself and allow yourself to know happiness in your life. You deserve that. Every woman does. Even you.

No. Especially you.