Uh, Really? ME???

Teenage girls are scary.  They're hormonal, bitchy, and unpredictable.  They don't even know what's going on with them, so it's nearly impossible for anyone around them to know, and they sure as hell can't explain it to you.  Once I got over being one (shudder), I had absolutely no interest in being around them ever again.

And then I gave birth to a girl-child.

Realistically, I knew I would have to deal with the teen years but when you're changing diapers that seems like a very long ways away.  As Monster aged, I half-joked that I was sending her to my mother the minute she turned 13.  Heck, my mom raised four teenagers (three of them girls) and we all lived thru it.  Also, my mother is still relatively sane.  About as sane as she was before she had four teenagers at once, which is to say... not very.  Perhaps that's why we all lived thru it.  It takes a certain amount of insanity to successfully raise teens.  But I digress.

So, the girl-child hit 10 and I decided to move back to my hometown of Timbuknowhere.  (Seriously, it's in the middle of nowhere.)  And as with so many previous child-rearing issues I'd run into, "they" were wrong.  "They" say girls turn nasty when they hit 13 and beyond.  "They" are liars.  LIARS.  Monster was absolutely horrid!  I hit the "I hate you's" early.  In her defense, I uprooted her several times during those couple of years.  Still, there were many, many days I went for a run and wanted to go all Forrest Gump on her pouty little ass.  Pouty.  Ugh, that doesn't even begin to explain it.  Just imagine Oscar the Grouch on PMS and take it to the 10th power.  That's closer but still doesn't quite cut it.

And then, strangely and almost imperceptibly, we moved past it.  We settled into this new (old) town and she settled down.  She normalized.  Okay, maybe that was just her hormones cause she is my child and I'm pretty sure you can't call her normal.  Regardless, we became friends again.  Not to say she isn't still difficult at times.  Just try waking her up in the morning.  Ha!  Still, the good once again outweighs the bad.  And I'm finding that I (gasp) kinda like teenage girls.

Even more odd, teenage girls like me.  They gravitate to me.  I have some kind of strange connection with them.  They respect me.  I have a whole herd of teenage girls here in the valley who consider themselves "my girls".  My home is a safe place for them.  They don't often take advantage of it but they know it's here.  And I'm here.  And if I'm not here, the door is unlocked and they are welcome to let themselves in and watch my TV and eat my food.

I do not understand this.

I am not role model material.

I'm a drug dealer and quite possibly an alcoholic.

But I'm real.  I'm honest.  Brutally so.  I tell them when I think they're effing up.  I call them on their bullshit.  And I don't sweat the small stuff.  I dunno.  Maybe I just don't like the responsibility of being an influence on a still-developing mind.  Ah, screw that.  I know I don't like it!  But these girls enrich my life.  I genuinely love them.  So I hug them and kiss them when I see them around town and they put up with it.  Even worse, they welcome it.

Life is so weird.


Edited to add:  I should probably mention that I keep the aforementioned drugs in a safe.  Not that I don't trust my girls.  I do.  But it's better to never have to question in the first place.  Also, it's just weed.  I'm like that chick from Weeds only not stupid.

The Cast of Characters

Since this blog is supposed to be "anonymous," I have devised a few nicknames for the major players.  Okay, who am I kidding... they're in my phone like this too.

Monster: My 14-going-on-40-year-old daughter
MBFF: Monster's BFF.  I'll come up with something better eventually but this will do for now.

The Dude: My boyfriend.  He's a ginger like me.  God help us if we ever have children.

The Bitch Sister: Self-explanatory but she's the oldest of us four

Uncle: My brother.  Monster has called him simply "Uncle" since she was little.  He calls her "niece."

Glinda: My younger sister.  She's the good witch.

The French SIL: My brother's wife.  She's French.

The Restaurant: Uh, yeah.  That would be the restaurant where I work.  Also, where I met The Dude.

The Campground: My other job.  Actually, my primary job cause I make damn good money at it.
Beaker: My co-worker at The Campground.
Din Mutha: Derby captain extraordinaire and one of my personal heroes.
Roomie: Obviously, the roommate.

There are other characters.  I'll make up names as I go along.  It should be fun.

About Me

Let’s start with the facts, shall we?  I am a daughter, a sister, a mother, and a friend.  I am a roommate, a girlfriend, a Christian, and a drug dealer.  I am a former drug addict with more relapse stories than I care to admit.  I am a former prostitute with a story that moved Jars of Clay (my all-time favorite band and my one claim to semi-fame) to tears.  I am a former and aspiring derby girl.  I am a runner who hasn’t run in years.  I am a smoker and quite possibly an alcoholic.  I am a reluctant role model and sometimes mentor.  I am a hippie… kind of.  I consider myself the most “normal” person in my nuclear family.  I am an intellectual who chooses ignorance at times because ignorance really IS bliss.

I am conflicted about my faith and my life and the way I choose to live.  I am torn by cultural and spiritual and familial expectations.

I can say all these factual things about me but I can’t reconcile what they mean with the reality of my life.  But what the hell DO they mean anyway?

I am me.  Simple yet profound.  I am a paradox.  But aren’t we all when we get right down to the nitty gritty of life?

So this is where I come to talk about all this craziness I call life.  This is my free therapy.  If you find something you relate with… well, that’s cool.  If not… whatever.  No offense but I’m here for me, not you. 

More than anything, I hope we both get to laugh along the way.


P.S. If you know me, or even think you know me, please respect my anonymity and keep it on the DL, okay?  Thanks.