Mom Doe, Identified.

I have been procrastinating on writing about this subject.  Have you ever felt so passionate about something that you feared that if you let it loose, you might not be able to harness it long enough to get logical, coherent thoughts out onto paper without producing a disaster for an end product?  This is that for me.  It's like I want to scream...

"WORLD!  'MOM' is NOT an all-encompassing identity!"

I don't quite understand why we are still here in this day and age.  Oooh, saying that makes me feel old. But I am tired of reading judgmental articles and blogs posts, and seeing stressed out, run down, guilt ridden mommies.  Why are we being shamed into believing that we should eat, sleep and breathe ONLY our kids? 

I am a mom but I am only a mother to my daughter.  In life, I am a human being.  A woman.  A multi-dimensional person.  I believe my offering to the world is that.  It is not that I am a mother.  By the way,  I think my acknowledgement of that fact makes me the best mother I can be.  More on that later.

Ask many women to describe themselves- most will start with some variation of "I am a wife and mother..."  Would you not think it odd if you asked me to describe myself and I said "I am a friend to 6 people and the daughter of my mother"?   NO!!!!  I am a quirky person.  A complicated person.  I love to learn, I love to try new things, I am very intense, type-A, probably a control freak.  I have a bunch of beliefs, many of which conflict with eachother, none of which my identity is tied to.  I am a family person,  a feminist, and a fiercely competitive person.  I'm less organized than I would like to be and I am annoyingly and endlessly curious about the world and all of the people in it.  And that list barely scratches the surface of who I am.

I love my daughter with all of my heart and I think we owe our children a lot.  As a woman with a daughter, I believe I owe my daughter an example of a self-possessed, strong woman who goes after what she wants in life.   She knows that I love her dearly but she also knows I take time to foster the seeker, the woman, the adventurer, the book lover (and many other elements of myself) within.

In full disclosure, I am kind of nutty about this.  I talk to my daughter as much about what she learns through osmosis as I do about talking to strangers.  Not only does she know to say "stranger danger!!!" if ever approached by someone she does not know, she also knows how to say "if" and not "when" anytime she refers to a future marriage or kids.  As in, IF later in life she decides she wants to be a wife and/or mother, she can and will be.  But conversely, IF she does not want to, she can do whatever her free little heart desires and still have an identity.

If I only taught her how to be nurturing, and if I abandoned my individual identity due to society's demand that motherhood involve martyrdom, what would I ever teach her besides how to be a nurturing martyr?

Similar to the 'stranger danger' tactic we teach our little ones, I hope as women, we speak out anytime there is an encroaching threat to our well being.  If there were tombstones created for the many souls devoured by the monster that is societal mommy guilt, we'd have enough fallen heroes to replicate Arlington National Cemetery.

To more whole women. 

Just when you think you're not batshit crazy...

Life has a funny way of proving to you how normal you're not the exact minute you dare to believe that you're pretty well adjusted.  Of course, I don't mean 'funny' as in humorous because I'm not laughing.  It's funny in the same way that hitting the inappropriately named bone in your elbow is funny.    


Lingering tingling feeling anyone?


To get a bit memoir-esque, I made it to to my late 20's without experiencing what I consider to be any real emotional hardship in life.  psssh...I was always happy, why did people have to try so hard?  Thinking the finish-line-of-life was just crossed unscathed, I felt invincible..  


Sooo that lasted for about two days and then Life, being the bastard that he is, was all like "I'll show Summer who's boss" and laughed kinda villain-like (muaaahahaha). 

Then began 2012...the year in which life and I fought eachother vehemently

(a la Floyd Mayweather & Oscar de la Hoya in a rope-lined ring in Vegas).

Yes, we're only in the 5th round but despite my bloody lip, I can assure you I will win. Inevitable victory or not, it hasn't been fun dealing with the bouts of uncontrollable emotions. 

I was genuinely concerned yesterday when I noticed that just 10 minutes after a complete low, a surge of joy and energy overcame me.  Think depressed Ben Stein finds stimulant narcotic- smokes said narcotic- and runs rampantly around in a euphoric state.

And I do feel very female all of a sudden.  I never understood what people meant when they described my gender as 'batshit crazy', so I sought out enlightenment.

Confused and unsure of how to self-diagnose Batshit Crazy Disorder, I consulted Google.  I just laid it all out there and typed in "why women are batshit crazy".

According to the articles discovered after clicking a couple of links, I am NOT (yay!) batshit.  Initially I was startled by the disturbing headline:

"HALF OF AMERICAN WOMEN ARE BATSHIT CRAZY!"

But as it turns out, temporary emotional volatility isn't crazy.  But a willingness to fore-go sex in order to be skinny, is.

"Fitness magazine is yet again asking the hard questions: Would you skip sex for a year if that meant you would be skinny? Or...would you prefer to "have great sex and be 30 pounds overweight"? A little more than half of their survey group of 2,400 ladies said they'd skip the sex. 

Could it be possible that these women who would rather be skinny than have sex don't have sex in the first place because they're too busy eating baby food and going to the gym all the time? Or are Fitness magazine readers just off their rockers?"

a real-life batshit gal, courtesy of Fitness mag 

I can't argue with Fitness magazine, although I don't think we agree on what exactly it is within the aforementioned article, that is infact, batshit nuts.  I love cheeseburgers so I don't think it's completely far-fetched to believe that there are a good amount of women who prefer to have one instead of sex.  However, female gym rats surviving on baby food?  What the hell has the world come to?

I can sleep well tonight as I've never been more confident in my sanity.

 

Red Bull's Dad

I stopped by the gas station near my parents' house the other day and was greeted by the attendant who has worked there since I bought candy on my walk home from jr. high school like a million years ago.

As soon as I walked in, he lit up and said "hey!!! OMG, your dad is Hostess right?!"

I'm sorry, what the hell did this guy just say?

He was intuitive enough to notice the confused look on my face.  So he picks right back up with "you know, you're Hostess' daughter...Hostess Bruce, right?"

Ummm?? Yeah, I was a little slow to catch on but he meant Hostess snack cakes.  Evidently I am not the only one who has noticed my father's affinity for sweet, delectable, sugary treats.

My Family

I just hope that by default, that doesn't make me Little Debbie.

This got me thinking- is every gas station attendant this observant?  Gaw, the things people could find out about me....

My dad would be surprised to walk in to my local fuel mart and be identified as "Red Bull's dad" or "Clif Bar's father-in-law".  I wonder if he'd beam with pride to know that he is "Airhead's grandpa".

On the bright side (always the optimist), I really could've discovered worse.  Things could've gotten bad if upon entering I was greeted with "hey, Summer!  You're condom's daughter, right??"

*********

"live in such a way you'd be proud to have your daughter meet your gas station attendant"
~Rancho Cucamongan Proverb

Svetlana Petrov, Plant Eater

I came to the realization today that my inner person is not who I thought it was.  I am actually quite certain that my inner person, or soul if you prefer, is a man.  Definitely a gay man, but a man for sure.  How can souls be either sex, you ask?  Well I don't know.  I'm certainly not claiming that my soul has a penis...I just think that's the best way to describe some of my more testosteronic tendencies.  My inner Summer is an alpha male.  There, that describes it perfectly.  

a pic of my soul but way more buff 

So you'd think that this alpha-female thing would allow me to fit in with the alpha males of the world.  And you'd be wrong.  We're supposed to be fragile!  Because we've got boobs, that's why.


Problem is, I like "guy humor", meaning that I find a good razzing pretty ha-larious.  I see guys just walk up to eachother with an endearing "hey dickhead" and receive a totally normal "yo, douchebag!" in return.  But nooo, when I play around with anyone there are no pet names like the aforementioned, shouted to me. I just get the triple awkward combo served up on a platter:


*gasp!*

*blank stare*

*crickets*

Take today for example, I'm walking from the back of the office towards the front and I pass the office of my co-worker...we'll call him, Jonathan.  After I've just passed the doorway I hear Jonathan yell, "HEY ARE YOU GOING TO THAT EVENT ON ELM AT NOON?"  

Not quite sure if he was talking to me, I turned around and walked back.  And being the total jokester that I am, I said  

"Am I, hey?" 


Well I didn't say I was funny, I just said I was a jokester.

So anyway,  my co-worker responds with "huh?" and a puzzled look.  I replied "Well you said 'hey' and I wasn't sure you were speaking to me.  If you use my name next time, I'll know I'm supposed to answer."  *big smile*

Ok, disclaimer:  this sounds really bitchy via written text but I said it totally tongue-in-cheek and really playfully.  

So Jonathan replies "oh my god dude, you're sooo direct sometimes, are you Russian?"

Ok..I'm sorry, now I'm confused.  I don't look Russian by any means.  And last time I checked, I wasn't wearing a tall furry snow hat, sporting 'Stalin' as my surname, or turbo guzzling a pint of vodka.

thinking of rocking this look as a disclaimer (sans the blonde locks)

Come to find out, there is a stereotypical saying about Russian women that goes like this:

"there are no Russian women, only Russian men without penises" 

 OUCH.

but also "lol" because that's kind of funny.  

Jeeze, way to make a gal feel like a real ball-busting buzz kill.

Here I am thinking he knows I'm joking, but To Jonathan, I am a true soviet incarnate.   In addition to me not being funny, it dawned on me that I also need to work on managing perception.  This point was again proven two hours later when I walked into a meeting where the topic of small talk, was hamburgers.  As soon as I walked in and sat down, the client turned to me and said,

"we're talking burgers here, but I'm sure you're a vegan, right?"

What?  Whoa.  Where did this come from?

I don't understand how you can look at someone and just assume that they are a vegan.  Is it because I didn't have any remnants of a 16 oz. charcoal grilled, rib-eye stuck in between my teeth? What does a girl have to look like to protect her carnivorous identity?  I love a ginormous burger...don't threaten me with a good time.

Just trying to be consistent with the shirt theme

I give up today.  I am clearly, the non-master of perception.  *sigh*  Just call me Svetlana, Russian vegan.

7.2 Months of Summer

I'm back in the saddle (er back in the blog?) after a minor sabbatical.  6 months is still considered minor, right?  I just imagined that someone said "yes" so I'm going to take it and run.  I figured with my first blog post back, ALL of my many followers would be so anxious to know (a) that I am alive and (b) what I have been up to since the beginning of the year the world ends.  That's 2012, for you non-mayans.


You will be happy to know that I have included more pictures, as I so gracefully vowed to do here . :)


January - I threw a little New Years shindig where I got my Martha Stewart on.  Basically that just means I bought some yummy takeout (psshhh cook?) and bought some baked goods that I set out on a small table.  I then lit a few tea lights and threw some "shamp" in a bucket with ice.  It really made me feel like a domestic diva.  At least I think that's what being a domestic diva feels like...

February - I started tennis lessons with two of my favorites. I'm pretty certain that given my natural athletic abilities I did okay, but at one point I did swing the racket, miss the ball, and subsequently "hit it" with my forehead.  It didn't make it over the net.


Also in February, I started learning Italian.  Or l'Italiano rather, just because I want to impress you.  I'm more in love with words, including those of another language, than I am with 99.9% of the people I love in this world.  <----- I also love hyperboles in case you couldn't tell.  I learned "molto bene" in the first lesson but it's still my favorite thing to say.  For those of you who aren't as classy and worldly as me, it means "very good".  Kidding.  I have never traveled and I am green with envy of anyone who has.  I suck.  But I always use my hands when I speak it and I really try to project creepiness.


March - I didn't do shit in March.


April - In April I turned 27.  That was not "molto bene".  I did, however, finally go skydiving.  Here's the summary:  Drove to hot, ghetto-ass Perris, got in a plane and then jumped out at 13,500 feet.  It was amazing and everything I expected. 

There was one simulation I was not expecting, and that was the "toddler simulation".  My tandem instructor happened to be 7' tall and being strapped to the front of him made me feel like a 12 month old in a baby bjorn.  I felt like an ass.

Luckily, the 3 day adrenaline rush that followed was well worth the demoralizing flashback to my spit-up days. 

******

Next, I did what everyone would do after feeling humiliated; I went to El Torito and drank margaritas while wearing a huge birthday sombrero. 

 May - I honestly don't remember much of May.  I think I may have been drunk.  No pun intended.  Just kidding!  Pun totally intended.

June - See "May" above.


July - Thus far in July, I have lived lavishly.  I laid around for almost a week, sipping on fruity drinks and hanging with my family and friends.

FYI, I really do have friends despite the empty rafts and abandoned looking pool above.

***********************************************************

END OF STORY

Now I'm back to work and paying dearly for every second of time I spent off.  

'til next time bloggers. :)

Pics are Worth a Thousand Reads

So today I had an epiphany. I was mulling over what a true blog failure I am- I've seriously had a blog for two whole years and I still only have 9 followers. And as much as I would like for you to think that it was my superb writing skills and sharp wit that brought them here, it wouldn’t be fair of me to let you believe that’s the case. One gave birth to me for god’s sakes. She would follow me anywhere. Six others are very close friends and/or family, but the last two I can take credit for…they organically came to follow my blog and I have no idea who they are. Woohoo!

Actually boo. That’s horrible.

One new follower per year…really? Quick fact: approximately 150 people per year die from head injuries due to falling coconuts. You do realize the implication here…I mean, more people will be KILLED by a COCONUT this year than will read my blog?

So back to my epiphany…

I asked myself earlier “what do really successful blogs have that mine doesn’t?” Aside from a point, I noticed that there were a lot of pictures. Even stupid pictures! Just pictures! Like this…



That actually made a lot of sense to me once I thought about it a bit more. Most people are pretty damn stupid easily entertained! Of course, they would rather look at pictures than make any effort to read actual words. I’m just going to have to stop drinking so much being so verbose and start including some visual entertainment!

In other news, I’m going to go home and Zumba tonight. As I mentioned here last week, I’m carrying around a few extra “Christmas gifts” if ya know what I’m sayin’…holiday souvenirs in the form of L-B’s. In case you haven’t seen Zumba, it’s a combination of hip-hop, Latin dancing, and even some Indian dancing mixed in there. Looks like this:



Although I know I look more like this:




Nite nite bloggers. :)

Hey Professor, Where is the Wine?

Ahh...the last day of my vacation is finally upon me. What is it about time off that makes it fly by so quickly? It's one of life's great paradoxes I guess...I have had Monday mornings that seemed to have taken longer than the 15 days I've just blown through. Like time stealing my vacation, the impending return to work has stolen my happiness tonight. Although, for the record, my jeans are begging me to get back in my routine because holiday cookies have stolen my size 3. My ass now has a faster growth rate than the Federal deficit.

All self-deprecating aside, I have had quite a bit more time than usual to catch up on my "Facebook News Feed". Forgive the positive intonation there- this is actually an unfortunate situation. I really could've done more with my down time (there I go self deprecating again).

But anyway, as I was perusing through my friends' Status Updates, I couldn't help but notice all of the new tattoo photos that some of my friends have so proudly shared. In addition to all of the peace signs, nautical stars and tribal bands, I noticed that there is a new "tat-trend" emerging. It's the token "favorite movie" tat. You know, tattoos of character's faces or quotes from your favorite flick.

I like to think I'm cool and all, but I have no tats to represent the motion picture that is nearest and dearest to my heart. I can't think of anything from my favorite movie, Under the Tuscan Sun, that I could convert into any street-cred-building body ink.

I briefly entertained the prospect of a portrait of Diane Lane's face on my arm - or even the face of that Asian lady who co-stars (you know...the um...Asian looking one from Grey's Anatomy?). Also, a Tuscan farmhouse complete with a cobblestone patio, where I could use my ashy/dry legs for an even more realistic cobblestone affect. I could see this fitting nicely on one of my calves. Or, maybe quotes from the movie that I find to be particularly profound, such as "Can you star-69 Italy?" and "Hey Professor, where is the wine?" Either would wrap nicely in script around an ankle or wrist.

But I just can't do it. I'm going to bank on the fact that not everyone has a tattoo-able favorite movie. What about the poor souls who love The Sound of Music? Do you really want to tattoo a giant pile of sh*t on your body just to pay tribute? I think not. What about all those Tom Greene movies? I'm sure nobody knows how to accurately illustrate a total douche-bag anyway. Really, what does that even look like? And who can forget those faithful Speed fans? They can't get Keanu Reeves saying "if he gets the money he wins, if the bus blows up he wins" because they don't make meat-head-surfer font.

With that, I will sign off and defer to those who can truly grasp this trend. Here's looking at you, kid. Yes, that's from someone's Casablanca tat...