Liars and Cheaters

(This is a post I started on months ago but never quite finished…)

“All good is hard.  All evil is easy.  Dying, losing, cheating, and mediocrity are easy.  Stay away from easy.” –Scott Alexander

I’ve  never truly believed that anything worth having is easy to get, or to keep.  I have tried fooling myself quite a few times in the past, the ex-men being the greatest examples of that, but I always knew deep down that anything that didn’t require dedication or work or any sort of effort probably wasn’t worth it. 

It’s work to do the right thing. Reward: that good feeling inside. 

It’s work to exercise and eat right:  Reward: good health and appearance.

It’s work to keep your mate happy.  Reward:  a happy mate.

It’s work to not cheat.  Reward….

Cheating to me is the same as lying, and in case I’ve never mentioned it before, I believe lying is the most heinous thing you can do to another human being.  Lying assumes the person is stupid, right off the bat.  Lying shows a complete lack of respect for the person, either because you don’t think they can handle the truth, or they are just not worthy of the truth.  And as much as you may tell yourself you are lying to “protect them from harm,” lying is by far more hurtful than any truth could ever be.  

Both my ex’s were/are liars, although in totally different ways.  The first is simply a pathelogical liar.  He feels the need to lie about random insignificant crap, and worse, totally believes everything that comes out of his own mouth.  He could argue that 1+1=5 and no matter what inarguable truth you bring to the table, he will always believe 1+1=5.  

My STBX is what I like to call the “white liar.”  I’m sure he would especially like that title, as he is incredibly racist as well, but that’s another topic.  The ”white liar” is the liar that lies about things for what he or she believes is the greater good, again, assuming the person being lied to is a complete moron or is simply not deserving of the truth.  They aren’t big lies on their own, but they add up.  Every single little, insignificant, “white” lie adds up to a much bigger thing.  Besides that, my STBX was a really crappy liar when it came to anything of significance.  He has “tells”: his lip curls a little, he can’t keep eye contact, the tops of his ears turn bright red.  I figure he was practicing with all the little lies, trying to get over the “tells” in time for something really big, like when I figured out he had cheated, or lost a ton of money gambling, or something like that. 

Thankfully, Mr. W hasn’t lied to me, yet, that I know of.  Well, there was that one thing, but if I want to defend him, he didn’t lie when confronted with it.  He just failed to fill me in on the details until he was forced to.  But that’s if I want to defend him…

I used to be a really good liar, something I’m not particularly proud of.  And while there are the occasional unpleasant hiccups with being honest, I have to admit I feel better about being honest than I do about keeping secrets and lies.  Besides, it’s just too much damn work!  But beyond all else, I’ve found it’s much easier to be honest about what you are doing when you aren’t doing anything worth lying about.    Call me boring, but on my search for peace in this world, all that extra work just isn’t an option.

These are a few of my favorite things

“…raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…”  ok, not exactly.   Those things are nice and all, but these, these are a few of my favorite things:

Starting off with how I start off most mornings, Starbucks.  I swear I used to hate Starbucks.  Really.  It was part that thing where I didn’t want to buy into all the mainstream crap that everyone else is addicted to, just cause.  Part because I really didn’t think their coffee was that great.  Enter Mr. W.  he got me hooked, and now I just can’t seem to accept anything less.  Crack.  It must be the crack they brew in it.  I’m sure of it!

And more on the morning…(when I actually do get to eat breakfast) I love Weetabix!  It was a love that started in my childhood, living in England where it is originally from.  Imagine my sheer delight when I wandered into the “organic food” section of Safeway a year or two back and discovered it there, being marketed as “organic” and “healthy!”  I suppose it is, if you don’t load it down with cow’s milk and processed sugar…oops.  The American version is packaged a little differently, but it’s all the same inside.  Extra yummy served warm with just enough milk to soak the whole “cake.”  Try it, I promise you won’t be disappointed!

Daisies…my favorite flower.  I tried to like the exotic lilies and the traditional roses when (rarely) presented with them by a suitor, but it all goes back to the simple things.  It all goes back to daisies.  (Even better if they are personally picked.)  The way I figure, any man can go spend a fortune on some beautiful roses or lilies or whatever they have pre-packaged at the flower shop “For Her,” but it takes some imagination and confidence to show up with some simple daisies as a symbol of your affection for that someone special.  And that’s just damn sexy.  Seriously guys…

Purple is my favorite color.  It always has been and probably always will be.  Purple is a symbol of royalty and of cancer awareness.  Purple inspires songs and movies.  Purple comes in the rain and in a haze.  Purple is a state of mind.  (Besides, Prince likes purple, so is there any other explanation needed?)

 

 

I love Prince.  If Prince showed up at my door at any given point in my life and asked me to run away with him, I’d say yes.  Actually, I’d probably be in his car with the motor running, tapping my foot impatiently before he finished his question, but I digress.  He is one of the most talented musicians (he can play every note on every instrument in every one of his songs himself).  He’s innovative and creative (When Doves Cry has no baseline…little known fact).  He’s in touch with his masculinity and femininity (he is a Gemini, after all).  And he looks damn good in purple!!

 

Jack Vettriano.  My favorite artist.  I have this piece, “The Singing Butler,” hanging in my living room.  As a matter of fact, my entire house (unintentionally, but coincidentally) was decorated in colors right from this picture.  You’ve probably seen it around, and I love it…

…but I love Jack because he also does pieces like this…

…and this…notice the couple in the background….seriously…sexy… 

And speaking of sexy things, check out these kicks!  I love them!  Madden Girl “Paulee” slingbacks from Victoria’s Secret.  I get a comment or compliment every time I wear them.  They have that peep toe I adore, and just a little bit of flair to keep it interesting.  Best yet, they are comfortable!

But not as comfortable as these.  My Vans.  I’ve always been a sucker for the “fat shoe.”  DC shoes, Vans, the old style Sketchers (before they became mainstream), and of course the old school shell-toe Adidas. (thank you Korn for providing me a way to always remember how that is spelled!)  Yes that is paisley on the shoe, and yes it is pink…not either of my faves.  But look close.  There are little skulls inside each of the paisley swirly thingies, so that makes it ok.

And for the ultimate in comfort, if I must wear shoes (I’d much rather go barefoot 24/7) it’s all about the flip-flops.  My personal favorites are Reef shoes.  They have that squishy foam bottom that molds to your foot as you wear them making them personally fitted after some wear.  Ahhhh…  Word to the wise, however:  don’t let others borrow your Reef shoes, as their foot is probably nothing like yours and it will invariably screw up the wear, making the shoe neither conform to your or their foot.  Hrumph!

These really are the most “perfect panites.”  When I first pulled them out of the package, I was like, hell, no.  There  is no way in hell these are going to cover my butt let alone make it to my butt.  They looked like cheesecloth shorts made for one of the girl’s toy dolls.  But it even says on the package…they stretch.  Trust me (them) they’ll fit.  And they did.  And I love them.  They are opaque, so they’ve got the sexy factor going on.  They are tagless boyshorts, so they are totally comfortable(almost as if you weren’t wearing any undies at all, but without that akward “I’m not wearing any undies” uncomfortableness).  And they are low cut and really thin, so no panty-peek or panty lines.  How did I ever live without them?  Added bonus: Mr. W way prefers boy-shorts to a thong any day of the week, and these have his definite seal of approval.  I just knew we were meant to be! 

I bought this ring from Amazon. (Love Amazon.  Don’t let their lack of an individual listing on this list confuse you.  I LOVE AMAZON!) I bought this ring on a whim, as an I love me present.  It wasn’t the most expensive thing in the world at $25, and it’s not the most flashy, glamorous thing.  However, it makes me feel good when I wear it.  I can look at it and smile and know that at least one person out there loves me….ME! 

I saved the best for last…my secret lover…my one and only…my one true love…my Nikon D40.  I don’t bring him out (yes, it is a him) nearly as much as I should.  I neglect him (damn, I need to charge the battery), I forget him (no kid pics from the carnival Saturday), I leave him at home when I should take him everywhere I go (he’s a little heavy, and I’m afraid to leave him in the car…), but I love him.  It took many years to find him.  I knew kind of what I was looking for in a man Digital SLR, but it was when we touchedI picked him up at Best Buy, I just knew he was the one.  No fancy bells and whistles, except maybe the fantabulous macro/telephoto lens I snagged on Amazon. (yes, size does matter!)     I’m working out the kinks in our relationship, trying to figure things out.  You can see the log of our time together on my photo weblog: briteclicks.  It’s a work in progress, growing pains and all that, but it’s true love nonetheless!

So who needs brown paper packages and string…these are a few of my favorite things!

To donate or not to donate…

I’ve been been going back and forth with the idea of donating my eggs for well over a year now, and it has been laying on my mind lately once again.  It was out of the question when I first thought about it, as I was on birth control (although not actually having sex with my STBX, so not really a biggie), and anti-depressants, and migraine meds, and stomach meds…But now, in the last 6 months, I’ve come off all of them with no likelihood of re-starting.  Of course, now I smoke, with many intentions to quit, and this may be just the little bit of extra inspiration I need.

I actually started thinking about all this shortly before getting pregnant with the girl.  My fantastic babysitter at the time was having 7 years of painful (both emotionally and physically) and failed attempts to get pregnant, and I was seriously, seriouslyconsidering approaching her about me being a surrogate for her.  She is a great mom (she has a daughter who is now 9ish) and a great person with a great family.  I knew it was causing her large amounts of pain to not be able to have that big family she always dreamed of, let alone just another sibling for her daughter.  At the same time, there was another woman I worked with who had ovarian cancer at a very young age, and while she could carry a child (uterus intact and all) she couldn’t produce one.  It’s always been discerning to me that there are so many wonderful people out there with big, loving hearts wanting, praying, wishing to open their hearts and homes to a child of their own, but just can’t for one reason or another.  I enjoyed my pregnancies, and while I’ve decided I don’t want any more children of my own, if I could help someone else have one I think it would be as much a gift to me as to them.  I have no personal qualms with “giving up” something/someone who is genetically connected to me.  I have no personal qualms with being pregnant again, really.  Of course, in my current life situation (two young kids, no family support in close proximity, no husband/man/adult/partner…around) I know actually being  pregnant is not a good idea, whether for myself or for someone else.

That brings me to egg-donation.  I’m doing my research, and it seems like a fairly simple thing on my end.  I quit smoking, first and foremost.  I take some pills to stop the monthly, then take some different pills to rev up the production.  They surgically remove my eggs, and I go home.  Hopefully the eggs take, and some happy person/couple gets a very literal bundle of joy.  Am I missing something?  I realize there are certain physical and (possible) emotional discomforts and strains, but really, what could it be compared to actually being pregnant for 9 months vs the 6 weeks or so of treatments, oh yea, and actually giving birth and actually  raising those kids?  I mean really.  If I can give this to someone willing and deserving, why not?

So seriously, am I missing something?

My little man

*caution, intense bragging about my child to commence in three…two…one…*

I have the sweetest, kindest  little boy in the world!  Yesterday, I took him to get his hair cut.  He desperately needed it, and since his dad does not cut his hair (or his fingernails, or his toenails, or do any “upkeep” on him at all, although he doesn’t work or go to school during the day, or do much of anything…) the responsibility falls to me to try to squeeze in during his two weeks at home.  He was such a well behaved little man during the haircut, only slightly flinching when the hair dresser was around his ears.  Afterwards, she asked if he could have a balloon for being so well behaved.  He, of course, requested a yellow balloon. 

*side note* I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned his fondness, bordering on obsession with all things yellow, since birth.  Yellow was his first “favorite” and his third word.  There was a brief hiatus on his obsession, however, after I took him to see the Incredible Hulk.  He was concerned because the Abomination–the bad guy–was yellow, and he didn’t want to be like the bad guy, so he announced after the movie that his new favorite color was green.  That has passed, and he’s now back to yellow.

*another side note* I have an irrational, cooky, strange phobia…of balloons.  OK, go ahead and laugh.  I know it doesn’t make sense, but it is true.  The feeling I get around balloons is something like I imagine someone who is afraid of heights feels.  I am also a little claustrophobic, and it’s much the same.  Nothing overwhelming, just a veryuncomfortable jumpiness in my stomach.  I know it’s weird.  I have tried to get over it.  I don’t even know why, meaning I don’t know where or when it stems from.  My mom did tell me once that even as a baby I didn’t like them.  She brought a helium filled balloon home for me once and had it in my room.  She said I screamed and cried until she removed it.  Strange, I know. 

So I tried to deal with the balloon.  We got in the truck, and I was ok, for about 30 seconds, then I freaked.  The boy didn’t really get that I wanted him to hold the balloon down, not just hold the string, and the flapping and floaty encroachment on my space was getting to me.  Of course, in my excitable state, I probably wasn’t clearly communicating what I needed to him, and it just got a little ugly from there.   I tried to explain that he would have to let it go when we got home because mommy is scared of balloons, which of course led to tears, which of course made me feel even more like crap.  As we pulled into my complex, I noticed a “Move in Specials” sign near the entrance with some tired, half deflated balloons attached.  *light bulb!*  I asked the boy if he would like to walk down to the sign and tie his balloon with the others.  After a brief moment, he agreed, with a sniffle.  So we walked the balloon down to the entrance of my complex and tied it to the sign with the others.  Whew.  As we walked back to my house, he held my hand and I said thank you.  He said it your welcome and that it was ok.  He’s such a great kid!

The rest of the evening went along swimmingly.  We enjoyed some pizza and cucumber sticks, which he happily shared (we are making great strides with that).  He did go upstairs to use the bathroom though, and reminded me of just how big he is getting…he managed to clog the toilet.  Not a great moment under normal conditions, but I was strangely proud…my son is becoming a man! 

The CUTEST thing!

Today, after picking up the kids from daycare, they promptly asked if they could go outside to play when we got home.  A glance at my nifty in-cab thermometer said it was still a roasting 93 degrees outside (ok…where’s the devil?), so I had to tell them no.  Of course they inquired, “why not?” to which I read the thermometer aloud and said it was too hot outside to play, maybe if it cools down later.

Silence

…which I obviously misconstrued as disappointment, soon to be followed by wailing objections…

A glance in the rear-view let me know I totally don’t know the first thing about my kids, but they are quite possibly the cutest, smartest kids around.

The girl put her face towards the window….and blew, and blew, and blew.  I asked what she was doing, to which she responded, between blows: “it’s too *blow* hot. *blow* i need to *blow* blow!”  Of course, by this time, the boy had caught on and was doing the same at the other window, asking between blows: “is it working *blow* mommy? *blow*”  How freaking cute is that??!!

After about 2 minutes of this, the boy had given up the actual blowing, no doubt realizing the work involved, and took to simply cheering the girl on.

After about 5 minutes of this, I wondered what the likelihood of her passing out was, remembering summers of the past where blowing up floaties and beach balls had left me lightheaded.

By the time we reached home, both genius children had decided it was far too much work to reduce the earth’s atmospheric temperature via lung-power and we all really needed to get in the house where it was cool…and maybe, possibly, we’ll try again tomorrow.

Smart kids.