Straight No Chaser -- Bush

I'm angry. If you don't understand why, I guess that I will explain, but, just know, that it irritates the hell out of me to do so. Today is Groundhog Day. Otherwise known as Mom's birthday.

I went out today, no makeup, hair a messy bun on top of my head, chucks and jeans and plaid button up. So I did manage to crawl out of bed and get dressed today. I didn't get carded for cigarettes or beer today. I can't decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I dyed my hair so the greys are mostly camouflaged, at least for now.

I want to yell at everyone that I encounter. I want to scream in their faces that today is my dead Mother's birthday. I don't want to have to explain to anyone why I'm upset today. I feel like everyone in the world should be mourning the death of my mother. Everyone in the whole fucking world should be sad that she is dead.

Someone at work made the comment that she didn't like when people say that God electrocutes them to teach them something, or that "My Mom has cancer because God wants me to learn something." I didn't rip her face off. I'm not even sure she knows that my Mom is dead from cancer. I didn't say anything at all, I'm getting really good at keeping my fucking mouth shut. No one wants to hear how my Mom is dead, no one wants to have that sickly sad feeling in their stomachs when they think of how it would be to lose their own mother. I get it.

And yet, here you are, again, reading my stories.

Since you're here, I'll at least attempt to entertain you. Brace yourself.

I can't call Mom.

I can't see her.

I can't hold out my arms and embrace her.

And I'm still fucking pissed about it. I thought for a while that things were changing, that I was slowly coming to accept that Mom is dead. I read another article about the stages of grief yesterday, and this one said that you will swing back and forth between anger and depression quite a lot. Well, I'm angry and I guess I'm depressed. Oh shit, the Cranberries just came on--where's the damn remote?

The other day I was cleaning out my top dresser drawer, the one with all the loose socks, and I found a neatly folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, wondering what it was and why I had kept it tucked away in my drawer. The handwriting was Mom's. It was a note giving me permission to ride the bus home with one of my friends, Amber P. The small folded slip of paper was in among the notes to the tooth fairy and the little extra button bags holding my kids' teeth.

When I was young I remember going into my parent's room and taking Mom's wooden jewelry box and going through its contents. I was careful not to take anything out or move things around. It had a tray that you could lift out. When I looked underneath I found teeth. Baby teeth. Our baby teeth. They weren't labeled or anything, just there in the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden away. I'm sure that she treasured them dearly. I don't keep my kid's teeth in the bottom of my jewelry box, they've been in this top drawer with my socks and scraps of paper with notes written by Mom. One day my kids will go through my stuff and marvel at their baby teeth in the tiny extra button bags, ziploc bags with instructive notes to the tooth fairy, and the tooth-shaped containers on necklaces that they give you when you lose a tooth at school.

I don't like to think of the terrible mixture of emotions that my girls will go through when I die. But death is inevitable. I cannot keep it from happening. But maybe I can lessen the blow. I want them to be as prepared as possible when I die, if that is even something that can be accomplished. I just have to tell them everything they ever need to know about life, love, and the world before I go.

Don't worry, I'm not going to preface these lessons with, "This is what I need you to know and remember for the time after I die." Having a conversation with someone right before immanent death is hard enough, so I don't want to complicate the lessons by initiating them with the constant reminder that I'm going to die.

I wore my scarf with the pocket on it to work the other day. The aquamarine one that Mom made me. I showed it off to my coworkers who said that she could make a fortune on the scarf-pocket thing. But, as I am apt  to do, I opened my big mouth and said, "She's dead. Sooo...." I have told them how my mother passed, and do not mean to be callous, but sometimes I wonder at my subconscious intentions when I say shit like this. Do I want these people to pity me? Not really. I just want everyone in the world to realize that my Mom is dead and to speak accordingly. Like the fucking dentist who told me to take my tooth they wanted to pull and give it to my Mom. No, bitch, I don't feel like digging her up and giving her my last baby tooth. Can't you just make a note in my chart that my Mom is dead and you shouldn't bring it up? 

I told my friend at work, who's mother had just passed away, that I didn't know quite what to say to her, "One day I got up and went the whole day without thinking about it." It doesn't matter if you are 25 or 65; when your Mom dies, it hurts. It doesn't matter how old your Mom is, you're still going to miss her and your heart will ache when certain days roll around again and remind you that she's gone.

So, if your Mom is still around, don't take it for granted.

Islands -- The XX

Don't worry, I'm still kicking. In fact, I'm gonna kick until I need new shoes. Speaking of shoes...

Remember Mom's flying nun shoes?

Here's a tip: Don't wear three inch heels to work unless you sit at a desk all day.

I experienced a close talker today. In case you don't know, a close talker is inches from your face, like Joe Biden when he talks to the ladiessss.

This lady was looking for a patent leather clog. Yes, I'm Al Bundy, y'all. Only, when I come home from work, I don't stick my hand in my pants when I sit on the couch. In fact, there's no sitting after work. I continue my real job after I get home from work, and my real job title is Mom. Only you have to say it like Quinn Morgandorfer, "Mah-oooooommmmm." 

Anyway, back to the close talker...So Joe Biden's long lost twin sister comes into the store today looking for a patent leather clog she saw online at Zappos. After I explained that we didn't carry the particular brand she was looking for, she described, in detail, how she had fallen in love with these shoes online. She couldn't sleep over wanting this pair of shoes. Patent leather clogs with ripples. Yes, ripples, all down the top and around the sides. I kept trying to picture these shoes in my head. What color? Ripples? Like the potato chips? I could only picture the rather unfortunate-looking dull, matte red clogs someone had returned the day before. I tried to imagine the red leather as patent with ripples all over it, and only succeeded in picturing what a red patent leather potato chip would look like on a foot.

Aunt Bethany Biden was mere inches from my face as she described her insatiable desire for these clogs. I may not have mentioned it before but I truly value my personal space. I don't want people to stand too close in the checkout line. I don't want you to touch me. And I really don't want to have a conversation with anyone with our faces inches apart unless I fucking love you, or the music is really loud. And even then, I'd rather just lean in just close enough to read your lips.

This lady had no idea what personal space is; it could have been more awkward, I suppose. But only if I had just stuck my tongue out as she got closer and closer to my face and just licked her. But I think licking the customer's faces is frowned upon, although I haven't actually attempted it...yet. We talked for quite a few minutes; she is going to tell her son at Thanksgiving dinner to buy her these shoes online. I encouraged this. Every once in a while a pair of shoes comes along and just speaks to your soul, buy meeeeee. I know, I've heard the tiny screaming of the cute shoes.

And then there are the shoes that are just...ugly. They have tiny screams too, run awaaaay!

Some lady just stopped by to browse last week and when I offered to help her with whatever she might need, she says, "All these shoes are just...well...ugly. I haven't bought shoes here in years because they're all so ugly.

"Oh, I'm 'sorry.'"

So why the fuck do you keep coming here? But I didn't say that. I have gotten very proficient at holding my tongue. I hardly ever say the first thing that pops into my head anymore. But you can bet your sweet ass I'll be thinking about saying it for a good ten to fifteen seconds. People mistake this pause for inattention. But it's just me running a hundred different responses through my mind before choosing, hopefully, the least offensive phrase.

Like Mom said, "It's better to keep your mouth shut and appear ignorant than to open it and remove all doubt."

Jenny -- Nothing More

Maybe Mom had to die for me to grow strong enough to do what needed to be done? Maybe our Mother died and instead of feeling angry toward god I should feel grateful for the lesson. I miss her. We all do. But we can't bring her back.  We can only move forward. As much as I'd like to have her here with me, I know now that surviving her death was what gave me the strength to overcome everything that I face now and will face in the future.

Mom was right. Life isn't easy. And it will never get easier. But it can be better. It's my choice. Every day I get to decide my attitude toward the world. I decide how to live my life. No one else gets to decide that for me.

I am relearning...everything. For too long I have looked to others for the answers, for the way I am supposed to be. All I ever really needed was to just be myself. I know who that is, I have always known it. I just spent this whole time trying to be what I thought other people expected me to be. And now I see that I was wrong. I was unhappy because, in trying to fulfill the expectations of others, I neglected to just be myself. Even now I find myself slipping into that old mentality. And then I pause and reflect on my emotions and I realize that every day I must work toward not letting the past dictate my future.

In the past, I thought that I was always right. Now I know that it's okay to be wrong. It's alright to make mistakes. You just need to learn from those choices instead of trying to justify your actions.

People have suggested that what is negative in my life can be solved by turning to God. Thank you for caring. What I really need, though, is for you to simply let god do the job. I find peace in what I believe. You find peace in what you believe. When I was a child I consistently questioned what it meant to be Christian, what it meant to follow one religion. I continue to learn about all the religions and take from them the positive pieces that seem to be consistent throughout them all. There's nothing wrong with that. And nothing has changed about that aspect of myself since I was young. And that's just how I am. I don't need to explain it. It just is.

Every book I read, person I meet, experience I have is a lesson, a learning experience. I just want to be myself. Don't try to make me explain why, just accept me--or not--and move on. I accept you. I accept that I cannot change you and that I will never truly understand what it is like to be you.

Do you?

Push -- Matchbox 20

I'm a pusher. I push people away. I push people to their breaking points, watch them shatter, and walk away, smiling like the crazy bitch that I am.

Some people know this about me and they push back. They insert themselves into my life and refuse to give up on me or be pushed away. I like those kinds of people, I guess. All the rest just give up too easily. They see me and if I'm having a bad day, or two bad days in a row, they're like "whoa, what the fuck?" But to me it's a test I'm giving you. You don't know you're taking it. Sometimes I'm not even aware that I'm giving it. But later, when you go, I look back and say, "Well, they just didn't pass the test." 

You should cut your losses and be okay with that, if that's the case. I can't be bothered with trying to reel people back in. I push people away, and some stay away. And some keep pushing their way back in, relentless bastards. 

It bothers me when people call me crazy and tell me that I need help. Why? Because I just smile in your face when you try to put me down? Because I laugh at you and agree when you say horrible shit to me? If that makes me crazy, I'll gladly take it. 

Sticks and stones will break my bones,

But YOUR words no longer have the power to hurt me.

People against internet bullying really hate the sticks and stones bit, and I understand that. But there is always gonna be that one asshole that uses all the hurtful words in the world to try and tear you down. You've gotta be ready for that shit when it happens. Because it will. Oh yes, there will come a day that you walk into a room and all the eyes are on you and someone is saying the most horrible things that you could ever dream of about you.

You see, I made the mistake of responding at all. You really just shouldn't respond. It's so much better that way. People don't know what to do with you when you don't respond. It puzzles them. Sometimes it frightens them. And that's just going to have to be okay because, that's what you need to  do. Be like Jesus. Be like SpongeBob. Absorb the blows like a sponge, only don't make that really annoying squeaky sound, because that's a response. And we don't want that.

I'm never going to be whatever it is that you want me to be. And I'm not going to apologize for that anymore. Sure, I will apologize to you when I lose my cool and respond, because usually it's not good when I do. But this is me, Beth The Pusher. Beth the Bitch. Beth the Blank Wall.  

If I've ever lied to you it's because I was scared of what would happen if you knew the truth. Turns out that's my weakness. Trying to keep people in my life when all I really need to do is give them one good, hard push and see if they go. 

If I push you and you don't push back, if I push you and you go, you didn't belong here anyway. And I will have to make my peace with that. It's hard, losing people. It's even harder trusting people. 

This is not an invitation. If I've pushed you away, then I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. If I've already cut you out of my life then no pushing either way is going to get you back in. 

You can call me crazy.

You can call me a life-ruiner.

You can call me a heart breaker. 

But I'm a pusher, I'm going to push you until you break. 

And, if I feel like you need it, I might just help you pick up all the pieces. 

Or I might just walk away and wait to see if you can do it yourself.

Tyler -- The Toadies

Here's a tip: I will not change for you. Or for anyone, for that matter. If I need to make a change in my life I will do it for myself and my kids. I'm not going to ask you to change either. It's unnecessary. Because you're not going to. I know that. Honestly, I don't expect you to.

I'm going to read three or four books at one time and listen to the Meat Puppets regardless of what you think about it. I will work on me, grow as a person, and improve my life one day at a time.

I have an endless capacity for love. I think I told you that. That's the one thing that this world will never take from me. You can take my friends, my cousins, my lover, my mother, but you will never take away my ability to show others love and kindness.

Since Mom died I have struggled with anger. I feel anger toward God because I don't understand his plan. That is my struggle. I accept that. And I also accept that most of you will tell me that I shouldn't be angry with God. But that doesn't really help me. In fact, sometimes I just need a hug. My kids give the best hugs. Because they love me no matter what. They don't care if I have fucked up everything. They open their arms and embrace me with unconditional love. That's all I really need.

Nero loved me like that. He didn't care if I was being a bitch, he'd follow me around everywhere I went waiting for me to reach out and pet his soft ears. He ran away, you know. Last week I had a dream that I went back to my house and there he was, sitting by the back door whining to come inside. "Look who's back!" I exclaimed, and we rejoiced.


People like to think of me as cold and uncaring. I invite that, in a way, I suppose. I don't react the way people expect me to, so they naturally assume that I don't care. People have told me that, quite a lot actually. People that love me have told me so. What I'd like to say is that is your fucking problem, not mine. But I can't act like that either, so I'm told.

When Mom told me she had cancer I had no outward emotional response. Apparently that really bothers people. She said she thought of me as the Ice Princess. To be quite honest, it had never occurred to me to be anything other than what I felt was me. But it bothered her. She told me that I had never said anything like that I was sorry that she had cancer, or shared my feelings. I know if you've been with me since the beginning, that you already know this story. I told her that day on the phone that I was pissed off at God. She made me promise that I would not hate God for what was happening to her. I made a promise that was a lie the moment it left my lips. I did hate God for it. Right or wrong, that's how I felt.

It took me years to realize that I could only feel hate for God because I loved him so. I knew it. But I did not accept that they were two sides of the same coin. I only have the capacity to hate when I have experienced love. There cannot be one without the other. People who have wronged me in my life I have thought back on and said to myself, I hate them. But it was only when I realized that I could only harbor that hatred instead of love that I decided to change the way that I felt about those people. I love them despite their flaws, in spite of their actions toward me, because it is better for me to accept that those people held a place of love in my heart, and that they always will. If I try to hold onto the hate that I might feel, I am only hurting myself. So I let it go. It doesn't make the hurt go away, but I feel better knowing that I can love those who think that they are incapable of loving others in return. I can treat others with respect and kindness when they show me hatred and disrespect.

From the beginning, we have all heard the saying "two wrongs don't make a right." It's true. If you slap me and I hit you back, we both lose. It happened once that a girl slapped my face. And I did the wrong thing. After I laughed in her face and said, "Really, bitch?" I should have just walked away. I know that now. But at the time I let anger control me, rage was my friend, and I smashed my fist into her mouth because she had braces and I knew it would hurt like hell. But I was conscious enough to know that if I grabbed her and put her head through the glass trophy case like I wanted to, that things would go really wrong really fast. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I should have turned the other cheek.

Don't make the mistake of misunderstanding me. I will always defend myself and those who are unable to defend themselves. If your intention is to physically hurt me, how fast can you run? Because, first, you better be able to catch me. And if you do, you better be ready to seal the deal. I am not afraid of pain. I am not afraid that you might hurt me. I am afraid that I will retaliate. So just don't bother, okay? It will not end how you want it to, and when you fight, no one wins--regardless of who's left standing.

I say this only because I have changed. I'm not a hot headed teenager anymore. I'm not going to hit you back. I'm gonna laugh in your fucking face and dare you to do it again. And again.

Do not come to me with your stories of suffering as an argument for me to change my morals. My morals are steady, solidly built in my mind and in my heart. You cannot change them. They will not falter. I will never again whine to you that life is so unfair, that all these things that have happened in my life are someone else's fault. "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." And if I do, be kind enough to remind me of my own words. I can only take those stories of suffering and internalize them, I think about your story and try to imagine how you must feel. I am a better person for that. But don't expect me to pull the pity card when you pull yours, because no matter what you have gone through, are going through, or will go through, someone out there in the world is living through the most horrific thing imaginable. Just stop your pity party for one second and consider that. Sit down and be thankful that you are still alive. Be thankful for all the blessings in your life. Because to do otherwise is to tempt fate. You think you've had it rough? You think you have it rough right now? You do. I won't say that you aren't struggling. We all are. Just remember that. We are all suffering. But it could always be worse.

Rebel Yell -- Billy Idol

My Mom is dead. If you've been following along you know this already.

Don't ask me if I'm okay, because I will say yes while thinking no. No I'm not fucking okay. 

For me, Mom was my conscience, my filter, my mentor. Now I'm looking around for guidance and all I really have, all I've ever had are my Family. They're not Mom, of course, but a little spark of her remains in each one of us. And that is what I cherish. 

I'm difficult. I'm an abrasive asshole. I will tell you all the things you don't want to hear. And I have to do it because she's not here to do it. 

Try to make me weak. Try to crush my soul, go ahead. I fuckin dare you. I'm more afraid of my dead mother than I am of any of you assholes. You better hope that when you go to attack me in any way, shape, or form that you take me to my fuckin grave. Because if you don't I will exact revenge. The kind of revenge my Mother loved best: living well and being happy. 

No matter what else happens I will strive to be happy and make the world a better place. I'm gonna do that whether you give a fuck or not. Because that's what Mom would do. 

Most Christian people live their lives by "What Would Jesus Do?" I'd like to challenge that ideal. What would my Mother do??? Exactly what Jesus would do. Motherfucker upended tables and whipped some assholes. Think about that for a while.