Still no word

I haven't heard back about my "inquiry" about that long lost acquaintance yet.

I'm not stressing about it or anything. I'm just really curious to know if it's really him.

In the interest of full disclosure (because that's, as the kids say, how I roll), this person I am curious about was the first person I had sex with.

Eep.

I know. Am I weirdo? Don't answer that.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that even though it was a sad affair; the whole business of our coupling, it pretty much colored the rest of my carnal history.

I was 15 years old. FIFTEEN.

Granted he was only 16 at the time, but still. When I meet 15 year olds I question whether they are old enough and responsible enough to babysit my kids. I don't like to think that I was their very same age when I 'gave it up'.

And give it up I did.

No fanfare. No professions of undying love. No promises of commitment.

I just wanted to get it over with. And, looking back, that is really really sad.

I know it wasn't just me who wanted to unload the imagined burden of being a virgin. Talking with my friends, it's almost a running theme.

Occasionally I'll meet someone who tells a pseudo-romantic tale of a long-term boyfriend. There's prom or a parents' vacancy. There's trust and teenage love and they actually stay on speaking terms after the big event.

I didn't get any of that.

I wouldn't change much of my growing up years. I had a good time, and most of my experiences made me the person I am today.

But this. This I'd change.

It made me wary of boys and closeness in general. I think I'm allowed to make that assessment now that I am in my 30's.

It's entirely possible that I would have been this way anyway what with all of my natural born tendencies toward the crazypants, but losing my virginity in the way I did probably didn't help matters much.

(cue my paranoia that my Mother or anyone closer than a third cousin is reading this...)

In my perfect world I could sit down for a nice chat and dinner with all of my past conquests, a round table of sorts. Well, it'd have to be more oblong than round...or a banquet hall.

But I digress.

Part of me just wants to know if I was truly as wonky back then as I thought I was. Was it glaringly obvious that I had what bordered on a phobia of getting close to them?

I was a big fan of the 'preemptive strike' with most if not all of them. In my mind, they were going to dump me/cheat on me/talk shit to their friends about me anyway, so why not walk away before they had the chance?

Of course, a lot of them did do some or all of the above, but not all of them. I'm pretty sure I stomped a few hearts during my college tenure.

I think, if this person really is who I think it is (and the resemblance is uncanny from what I can remember from almost 20 years ago), and he really is dead, then I'll just have to make peace with the fact that I'll never know.

I don't think I'd really want to sit down and rehash the sordid details, but I just want to know what kind of person he turned out to be. And, naturally, I'm curious about how he died. I'm not trying to be disrespectful. Wouldn't you want to know?

From what I can tell from the posthumous myspace profile, he was an artist (not surprising) and deeply loved by his friends and family. I'm not being snarky when I say, "Good for him".

It's Official

Not having my own computer sucks a whole lotta' booty.

I'm going to have a friend of mine take a look at it, but he just got back from a long vacation so I don't want to thrust it at him 5 seconds after he gets home (I save that sentiment for my husband, thankyouverymuch).

I will say that I have been getting a lot more done around the house during the day without the distraction of the internet. Maybe this laptop death was a good thing.

Yesterday I started training to be a rape crisis volunteer. It was an all day training session, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach by the time 4:30 rolled around. I'm not complaining. I kind of expected to feel emotionally exhausted by this venture.

I'm glad I finally got signed up to do this. It's something I thought about back when I was in college, but somehow never found the time to get it done. It's kind of sad that I didn't think I could fit it into my schedule then, but somehow have found the time now that I have a real adult life thing going on.

In a way, I am glad that I didn't volunteer back then. I think I was way too self-centered and lost to be of any help to anyone. Now that I have a few (OK, more than a few) years on me, I am more equipped to handle what I am about to do.

We live in a world where some men still feel it alright to use their inherent social stature over women for carnal gain. Where "no" can mean "maybe" or, sadly, "yes".

We live in a world where children, the elderly and the disabled are preyed upon as "easy targets" of sexual assault and rape.

We live in a world where young women are told that their worth is calculated in direct correlation to how men rate her desirability.

What does this say about us?

I know I can't save the world. Unfortunately, along with those "years of experience" I've racked up, I seem to have lost the genuine idealism I had as a young adult. However, I can do my part.

And it feels really good.

Best.Birthday.Ever.

I had far too much fun at my slumber party. Probably more fun than a grown woman should legally be allowed to have.

No, fuck that. I did deserve it. And my wonderful friends deserved a night of drunken revelrie as well.

Photographic proof of our night. LOTS o' pictures.

Flowers from my husband before he got the hell outta' Dodge.


I made some pretty cupcakes:


Enough?


It started off innocently enough:
"Hmmm...do I start with bourbon or wine?"










Present from Travis. He thought I needed a new gym bag. Inside the gym bag were colorful cigarettes and vaginal wipes. I love him.



My husband HATES celery. Hates it with a burning passion. This one is for him.


Who's a Pretty Barbie Birthday Princess? I AM! Thanks to Meghan.


Things went downhill (in a good way) quickly. Soon we were drunk.

Apparently I thought something we really fucking hilarious. I wish I could remember what it was.




No pillow fights, but Rachel got smoochy.










Phil is mysterious.


My dogs wanted us to shut the fuck up and go to bed.


But I made Ichabod play some Wii.


Full contact Wii.




Me. 3AM drunk in three parts.







34 is gonna' be a good year.

Regret meme

Katie tagged me with this one: You’ve just learned that tomorrow you will die at sunrise. Tell me the five things you regret and the five things you don’t.

The Don't Regrets:

1. I don't regret starting a blog. Though I was hesitant at first (who the fuck am I that anyone else wants to read about my take on stuff?), I'm glad I hopped on the bandwagon. It wasn't until I re-found Grant Miller digging around on the internets that I seriously considered it (read: you can blame him for this amalgam of whoosit).

I've since (both virtually and actually) met some new friends through it, and not one restraining order has since been filed. In two days, it will have been one full year since I started Better Living Through Bacon. And it's been delicious.

2. I don't regret having children. In my younger years, I honestly didn't think I would. I didn't think I had it in me to take on the responsibility and set aside my own selfish tendencies.

It's not perfect, and sometimes (all the time) I question my capabilities. Having children has tested my sanity in ways I never thought possible. If they weren't so damn cute, I'd have sold them to the gypsies years ago.

With the difficult however comes the amazing. The adoration that oozes from them all over my husband and I is payment enough for every sleepless night, every splatter of poop, and every puddle of puke (of course, they aren't teenagers yet).

Knowing that I have two mini-humans counting on me to keep my shit together gives me reason enough to try and be a better person.

3. I don't regret quitting my job as a hairstylist almost three years ago. I miss doing hair sometimes, but I don't miss hauling my kids around to get to work for a paycheck that was barely covering expenses incurred from working. How sad that it sometimes cost me money to go to work?

4. I don't regret being slutty in college. I would never buy a pair of shoes without trying them on first no matter how gorgeous or cheap they were. Some people learn by seeing or being shown. I learned by trying every pair of shoes in the shoe store.

Sure, I got my heart broken more times than I'd like to admit and maybe I should have listened to that inner voice a little more often. In the long run however, I can't say that I regret any of it (OK, maybe a couple of them).

5. I don't regret going on crazy pills. This is a recent development here in the land of salty meat, and not something I ever planned on talking about here, but there you have it.

I spent way too long ignoring the unignorable. I had myself convinced that everyone felt the way I did. They just didn't talk about it. I was wrong.

My only regret is that I didn't deal with it sooner.

The Do Regrets:

1. I regret never living alone. I went from living at home to the dorms to having roommates to getting married. I never got to enjoy the kind of freedom one has knowing a space is all one's own. I missed my opportunity to do it when I could, and until my kids move out and my husband decides to get a trophy wife, I'm SOL.

2. I regret not finishing college. I could always go back, but time and money don't grow on trees. It's always in the back of my mind though. Someday.

3. I regret not cutting poisonous people out of my life sooner. Whether it was a bitchy friend who never had anything positive to say or a loser boyfriend who couldn't tell the truth to save his life, I regret not having the balls to tell them where to go. I always seemed to fall into that trap of not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings even when the situation made me miserable. I know better now.

4. I regret not standing up for myself when I should have. I spent way too much time in my young adulthood not asking for what I wanted and/or needed. As hard and tough as I thought I was back then, that girl in her twenties would cower in front of the woman I have turned out to be.

5. I regret not owning my actions earlier in life. I also spent the better part of my 20's spending too much time blaming others for my own mistakes. With age has come the realization that I am responsible for my own choices and the fallout--and that that's not a bad thing. This to me is what led me to come to grips with my Atheism (after a whole life of being raised in a religious household).

I hope to look back on this post after a long while and not have anything to add to the bottom part of the list, but without regret what would spur us on to try new things and learn from our inevitable mistakes?

Un-regretfully yours,

The Bacon Lady

I Stand Corrected

It has become glaringly apparent that I am a terrible judge of character.

A few tidbits of information have come to my attention that I can't ignore. I am heartbroken that I was indeed wrong about the person I trusted my stupid, sometimes annoying, but enormously loved dogs with.

Damn it.

In other news...

I saw an office in the medical park next to my bank titled "Successful Aging Center".

Um, isn't not being dead considered successful aging? What the hell do they do over there--give you a plaque on your birthday?

"Hooray, you've managed not to die! Here is a prize for your effort. Carry on."

Don't rich old people (the only people I can imagine with a use for such a place) have anything better to do? If they're that intent on handing over their cash, I'd be happy to help them out.

Note to newly arrived college students in town

If I am driving down the road and my light is green, that means you stop and wait at the corner until I have passed through said green light. My green light is not a signal for you to begin crossing the street in front of me. If you are halfway across the street as my light turns green, I will cordially tap my breaks to allow you approximately 4 seconds to get the fuck out of my way. Otherwise, stand clear because I am usually not in the mood to scrape a skanky freshman coed off my hood.

Tissues, please.

Mina started kindergarten today.

I walked her to school this morning and we talked about what the day might bring. She was so happy and excited. I was fighting back tears.

She was fine as we waited in her designated class lineup spot. I could tell she was listening in on the 5th grade girls' conversation next to us. She's always been enamoured of older girls. She just can't wait to grow up.

All was well until the first bell rang and her teacher came out to take them inside. She looked up at me and told me that she was scared.

"I won't know what to do. What if I make a mistake, Mama?"

As much as I wanted to scoop her up and run, I fought the urge with everything in me and told her that it was the first day and everyone was bound to be confused and a little scared. I told that it she was going to be just fine.

I sounded pretty convincing too.

Oh, it's not that I don't think everything will be fine. I just know that kindergarten is such a huge 180 from what she is used to. The two years of preschool under her belt may have prepared her for some things, but they were only a few hours a day. This is a full 8:15 to 3 o'clock deal.

She seemed satisfied with my answer, but I could still see the hesitation in her eyes. All I could do was give her a hug and a kiss and step away as a woman I met just yesterday led my first born off into the big world of public education.

I have no doubt Mina will come home full of chatter yet utterly exhausted. I know she'll love school.

Me? I could probably use a Valium right about now.

Be warned

I'm on this kick lately.

I'm hunting down old boyfriends, friends and "special friends". Not for anything clandestine, mind you. I just have this burning curiosity to know where they are and what they are up to. Oh, and we have a discussion going on a parenting message board I belong to. We're dishin' proper yo.

I thought I found the boy I lost my virginity to, on Myspace. It looked a lot like him and his profile came up when I searched him name, but it wasn't him. This led to seeking out others who spent some time on my "dance card".

It's been interesting.

Anyone share my obsessive "need to know"?

Is it any wonder why I'm so obsessed?

I've decided that I finally feel like an successful adult. Why? Because I now have a "beer fridge" in the garage.

I remember growing up, going to my friends' houses (which was jealousy inducing in the first place as we always lived in tiny apartments), and seeing a second refrigerator in the garage.

"My GOD!" I thought to myself, "It's not enough that these people don't have to share a bedroom with their brother, and now THIS?!" The humanity.

It all seemed so decadent, like the time I found out my friend's Mom had a phone in her car. A PHONE...in her CAR. The year was 1984 (I was 10 years old for those playing at home). We wouldn't get a cordless phone at my house for another 3 years, and here was this woman, able to yak it up while driving around. I was amazed.

Dishwashers were another obsession of mine. Every time I went over to a new friend's house to play, I would find myself wandering into the kitchen to check for one. To me, having a dishwasher was a sign of prosperity.

At my house, we had a small black and white TV that my Dad threatened to throw away at least once a week, much to my brother and I's deafening disapproval.

At my friends' houses, they had giant color televisions in several rooms of the house including, something quite foreign to me, the "den". I never understood why people needed a whole room to sit and watch TV (wasn't that what the living room was for?), but I wanted one just the same.

Then there was cable. My parents finally relented just last year and got themselves signed up for cable television. Only after they spent some time at my house and saw that there was more to it than boobs and crap. My Dad is now a Discovery channel junkie and my Mom can watch Columbo at just about any hour of the day.

I don't fault my parents for the way they raised me. It wasn't like they didn't want to enjoy the conveniences of life. We just couldn't afford it. I certainly appreciate what I have now more than I think I would had I grown up with privilege.

It's funny now the way my Mom showers my girls with more clothes and gifts than is humanly necessary. At first I thought she was just excited to have grandchildren (and that is part of it), but it finally dawned on me that she is trying to make up for what she couldn't give my brother and I.

I've tried to reason with her. My kids don't need all this stuff. No one does.

While it's great that I almost never have to buy clothes for my girls, I still get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach when she brings over a pile of new outfits or toys. I don't want her to feel like she has anything to prove. She and my Dad made do with what they had, and did it very well in my opinion.

The fact that I can get excited about having a "beer fridge" is proof of that.

Three

Happy Birthday Little Bean.

For your scrapbook

Author, Goddess and all around Kick Ass Woman, Amy Guth tagged me. She apologized for doing so, but what she doesn't know is that I have had nothing of interest to really write about, so I am thankful for the diversion that is the meem...or meme...or however the fuck you spell it.

The Rules are:
~ Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves.
~ The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.
~ At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1. As an angry, hormone-driven, shiftless college student I swore up and down I would never get married but if I did, I certainly didn't want to have children. It all seemed so pedestrian and booooring.
15 years later I am a married housewife with two children. And I really really love it.

2. I not only read but have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I get excited about articles that discuss storage and decorating. I drool over gardens and the latest in high tech appliances. Some people are into skin flicks. I'll take house porn any day.

3. I am an obessessive list-maker. I'm not just talking 'jot it down on the back of a receipt' kind of lists. My lists are categorized and sometimes color-coded. I've been known to re-write a list if it's too messy.

4. I am a control freak (see #3). It's starting to rub off on my oldest daughter so I am taking pains to reign it in a bit. It's a hard habit to break though.

5. I talk a lot. A lot. Get a few drinks in me and you will most likely go home with a headache from all my yapping. I can't help it. I apparently think I have a lot to say.

6. I have 10 tattoos (11, if you count the one that got covered up by a different one). I am not done.

7. I've had just about every color of hair there is. I used to shave my head after I got tired of a color so I could start fresh.

8. I smoke. I drink. I'm an Atheist. I swear a lot. I eat red meat like I'm going to win a contest for doing so. And I make no apologies for any of it.



I'm not going to tag anyone, but I am going to direct yous to an event held by the tagger of this fine post: Check it.

Daniel, my brother

Today my Mom told me something that kind of shocked me.

My younger brother was trying to figure out a way to buy my house (to rent out) to relieve me of the burden.

I was speechless for a second.

It's not that my brother don't get along. It's just that I never really see him anymore. He lives in NYC and has some fancy job that takes him all over the world. He doesn't always make it home for holidays either. Mostly we email back and forth once in a while. He sent me an email just the other day to make sure I knew Jerry Fallwell had bitten the dust (he knew I would appreciate the heads up).

As it turns out, there is some residency law that prohibits him from using the purchase of my house as a tax write off. I don't know how any of that works, and I'm certain my Mom's convoluted explaination didn't help any.

It was so touching that the kid that once ratted me out for smoking at the bus stop (I was in junior high! I was such a J.D., oy) has turned into such a would be benefactor.

I really should have been nicer to him when we were growing up.

Gonna' make you sweat

Why do they have to play such awful music in the exercise classes I go to? It's like a gay nightclub circa 1992, except without all the sexy sweaty homosexuals to dance inappropriately with. (*For the record, I LOVE going to gay nightclubs any chance I get.*)
"Cool down" is even more embarrassing. We travel from The Manhole to a cheesy, lite rock cruise ship. Celine Dion is a screeching mess of a woman. I have no interest in stretching while she's singing. Retching, yes. Stretching, no.

And why did they have to hire "Hot Guy Painters, Inc." to paint the gym? Management could have at least sent out a mass email warning me that I'd be doing squats four inches from the window they were edging. The worst part? They didn't even look up from what they were doing. Dammit people! Throw a girl a bone.

I like exercising. It makes me feel better, sleep better and ultimately squelches any guilt I feel about the cupcake I ate after breakfast this morning.

For me, it's not really about health though. If it were, I would have given up cigarettes and french fries a long time ago. It's about vanity.

I'm chugging through my 30's here and after a couple of babies, the body starts to rebel a bit. I absolutely refuse to wear "Mom Jeans". High-waisted, peg-bottomed pants will never hang in my closet. I also refuse to willfully wear anything with words printed across the ass, but that was an executive decision passed down in high school. And no sweat pants. Thank the babyjesus for yoga pants (all the comfort, none of the humiliating elastic).

In order to still be able to shop for fun clothes and not cry in the dressing room, I work out. I have to. My genetic makeup demands it.

I suppose the gym may be onto something hiring these delicious young men to repaint the walls. Maybe it's subtle motivation.

I'm not sure what they're thinking with the music.