"The Real Slim Shady"

Hate me for it
Berate me for it
Say you ain’t gonna date me for it
But I said what I said
All the thoughts in my head
Telling you it’s time to go
Because you treat her like a queen
But treat me like I’m your ho
Well I don’t play like that
It ain’t gonna stay like that
Watch my feet as they hit the ground
I ain’t staying around
This romantic ghost town
I’m peeved
I’m irked
My broken heart is hurt
But I’ll lick my wounds somewhere else
Swallow my pride and protect myself
Because what you got to offer
Ain’t nothing but dreams
And the fantasy is starting to come apart at the seams
So stiffen your back and say it’s all fine
Act like I ain’t all that and you ain’t got the time
For a dumbass bitch like me
But you’ll see
When she tosses your ass out,
I ain’t got the time for you either, see?

A.R.M.
05/02/08

"Baby, Baby"

Another secret from PostSecret today.

I have a couple problems with this postcard.  First off, I've never been a fan of fake pregnancies or tricking a man into being with you because you got pregnant.

And secondly, this fake pregnancy/fake abortion is a slap in the face to women everywhere who found themsleves holding a positive test in their hands after squatting over the toilet to pee on a stick.  Forget that you tricked this man into thinking you were facing this life altering decision - you faked what real women everywhere have gone through time after time.  Some women read their postive test and shed tears of joy. While other women held their tests and cried for the decisions they would now have to face.

Abortion. Adoption. Keeping a baby.

You faked it. You pretended that you agonized over this decision and spent sleepless nights, trying to do the "right" thing for yourself and the child you were carrying. Perhaps you are still pretending - maybe you and the man 800 miles away talk about how difficult it was for you to make this decision; how you hated yourself for the decision you made even though you thought it was the "right" one.  Your family went to the fake clinic with you to surround you with love in your time of need.  You cried so hard from the fake pain that the nurse held your hand and tried to distract you by telling you how pretty your eyes were and you told her they were colored contacts. You had fake cramps that were a hundred times worse than any cramps you ever had from your period.  And you faked it when you told him you ate Hershey Kisses, BBQ chips and Root Beer for almost a week as you lay on the couch, recovering.  Perhaps you fake it sometimes and wonder aloud to him if it were a boy or a girl.  Maybe you pretend to wonder what your life - and your baby's - would be like had you made a different decision.  And maybe you are still pretending and keeping this "secret" from everyone else because you are ashamed what they will think of you; what they will say about you; how they will condemn you for it. When a new doctors asks you how many times you've been pregnant and how many children you've given birth to, do you tell him your "secret" too? Of course not.

You faked it. In the end, you get off easy because you never actually went through any of this.  And in all the time since, have you ever had this secret burning a hole in your heart but you were afraid to tell anyone else because you feared they would shun you? Did this secret make you wonder if you would get into Heaven because of it?

No, because you faked it.  Some of us actually were pregnant and forced to make a decision between abortion, adoption, and keeping an actual baby. And some of us worry we will go to Hell for our decisions.

But you? You faked it.

"Secret Lovers"

This was one of the secrets today on the PostSecret site and if I could tell the sender something it would be this:

That married man didn't turn you into anything. Nobody can make you do anything, become someone, or feel something you do not feel.  Anything you ever did or said or felt, no matter how it related to him, was all your own doing. Did he tempt you? Did he present you with the opportunity? Did he influence you?  Perhaps.

But in the end, it was always your choice to follow this man, to engage in a relationship with this man. It was never anyone else, it was always you.

And I mean no disrespect when I say this. But I'm tired of people thinking they have no responsiblity over their own actions, even when it comes to matters of the heart.

We may not always have control over the things that happen to us, but we control how we react to them. We choose how we will handle the unforseen circumstances, the tragic events, the aching hearts. We choose.

This man did not turn you into anything. You did that to yourself.  And you have the power to undo it, as well. You have the power to be someone that is not waiting for a married man to leave his wife.

Choose to do that. Choose to be in control of your life.

"We Are Family"

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~ e.e. cummings

I'm ashamed to admit that until just a few minutes ago, I thought e.e. cummings was a woman. My father and sister both majored in English, and my sister is now an English professor, and yet somehow it escaped my attention that e.e. cummings was in fact a man.  Perhaps I had him confused with another poet, one of the female persuasion? Clearly we never studied cummings in any of my high school or college Lit classes. (Another thing I didn't know, he's from Cambridge, Mass. My Dad was from Winchester, which isn't far from Cambridge. New England represent!)

All that aside, I love this poem. It came to my attention when my sister (the aforementioned English professor) suggested I read In Her Shoes by Jennifer Weiner.  In this book, Maggie read cummings' poem at Rose's wedding. And while cummings may have written this poem about a lover, my sister and I view it as a familial bond. That no matter how far apart we are, no matter how long it's been since our last heart to heart conversation, we always carry each other in our hearts.

In fact, prior to ever reading this poem, we developed a saying between us: "Half a heart."  Many years ago, while I was still in my late teens, we came up with that saying. I was living in Virginia at the time, she was here in California. And we'd sign our letters, "Half a heart away" which turned into simply "Half a heart." So when I read this poem, it hit home.  Carrying her heart within my heart... sharing a heart... half of that heart is with her.

In Her Shoes (the movie) was on the other night (starring Cameron Diaz as "Maggie" and Toni Colette as "Rose") and when Maggie read the poem at Rose's wedding, I cried. Now, I cry during a lot of movies (most recently during Home Alone 2 and even during last night's Criminal Minds), but this was different. This was a connection. This was my heart saying, "Yes, cummings got it right."

Even if he was a man.

"Dress You Up in My Love"

When my Grandmother passed away in August 2004, some of the family members wrote down memories for the Reverend to read during the memorial service. This was mine...
 
When I was a young girl, my Grandmother made me the most beautiful coat, or rather, the most beautiful, formal cape. It wasn’t a denim coat to be worn casually or a fleece lined jacket for winter, oh no, this was an elegant creation, made only for the fanciest of nights out. But despite it’s fascinating appeal, and the care in which it was made, I’ve never worn the cape, not even once. Because it was for my Barbie.
 
Made for a doll of only 11 ½ inches high, the cape was made of cream-colored mohair and lined in the softest satin, designed to fall to Barbie’s ankles. At the neck, a gold cord tied the cape around Barbie’s shoulders, and the hood was trimmed in mink. Real mink. Imagine that, I was in dungarees while my Barbie draped herself in mink. The cape was the most elegant piece of clothing my Barbie ever owned – beautifully designed and expertly crafted by my Grandmother’s loving hands. How I wished I’d had one in my own size!
 
I adore that cape so much – both for its beauty and the love that was put into making it - that long after I grew out of Barbies, I’ve kept that cape among my most cherished treasures. To this day I still take it out every now and then to admire its craftsmanship and style. But it means more to me today than it did the first time I laid eyes on it, and I’ll tell you why.
 
When I was in my late twenties, my Grandparents came to Virginia for a visit and one night during their stay, our family engaged in a traditional game of Hat Scrabble. Hat Scrabble, if you’ve never played, is when the family all gathers around for a Scrabble tournament and all participating parties must wear a hat -–the more outrageous or unique, the better. Having anticipated a Hat Scrabble tournament, my Grandmother had packed a hat for just that occasion. It was a vintage hat, trimmed in mink, and right in the front there was a strip of fabric missing its mink trim. I innocently asked my Grandmother what had happened to the mink and she smiled knowingly back at me and replied, “I used it to make Barbie clothes.” [After the Reverend read that line an audible, collective gasp could be heard in the church.] I was speechless as the realization hit me. The evening cape I had so long cherished was made not only with my Grandmother’s love and skill, but with her very own mink, taken right off of one of her hats. I can’t tell you how honored I was that she had made such a sacrifice just to give her Granddaughter’s Barbie an elegant evening cape.
 
To this day, the most wonderful cape I’ve ever owned is one that I will never be able to wear, but will keep with me for a lifetime. And I have my Grandmother to thank for it.

"Momma I'm Coming Home"

How To Annoy Your Mom   Tell her she ruined your life by making you move from California to Virginia after you graduated high school. Even though after six months you were old enough to move out on your own and could have moved back if you so chose.
 
Live at home.
 
Borrow money from her to buy your first car.
 
Stay up late some nights, talking to your friend on the phone. At midnight decide the two of you want to go to 7-11 for ice cream. When your Mom asks where you're going tell her. Then when she tells you not to, explain with sass that you're 18 and it's your car so you're going. Come home at 2:30.
 
Every time you date a cute boy, tell her he's "the one."
 
Borrow money from her for college.
 
Go into her closet every now and then and point at things you like. Say, "You don't wear this anymore, do you?" When she tells you you can't have it, point at something else and ask, "What about this?"
 
Forget to send in your application for insurance in January and don't remember until February. Then, a month before your insurance kicks in, need major surgery immediately that needs to be paid for out-of-pocket.
 
Borrow the money from your Mom.
 
When the carburetor goes out on your car, have your Mom follow you to the carburetor specialist…twenty miles away. They will have your car for two weeks and do nothing to it. Then ask your Mom to take you and your car to another shop where they have your car for another week and actually fix it. Borrow money from you Mom to pay for it.
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: Ask your sister if you can borrow her car while yours is in the shop since she commutes to work with your Mom anyway. Use it the entire three weeks your car is in the shop.)
 
While still owing your Mom money, buy a second car. A British one. One that needs to be restored. Keep it parked in front of her house. When your first car breaks down and you have it towed away, borrow money from her to get your second car running.
 
Move out of her house, finally. Then move back in after 6 months. Then move out in another month. Then come back in another 6 months...with a cat. Then stay for three more years.
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: Ask your siblings to help you move each time.)
 
When you're living out of state, take your car into the muffler shop to have them inspect a rattle that's been annoying you. The mechanic will tell you he fixed it cheap but while he was working on your car he noticed that one of your tires is almost worn through clean to the thread and that you should have it changed immediately to prevent a blowout. Go to the tire shop. Have them give you a new tire and align your car, the misalignment being what caused the problem. Call your Mom at work in another state and borrow the money to pay for it.
 
When you're living at home again, borrow money from your Mom again, when your car breaks down again. Ask her if she can drive you to the British car specialist…15 miles away. And if she could take you to work and pick you up each day until your car is ready.
 
After you've moved out ("for the last time" she says), call her at work with random questions that you could wait to call her with that evening after dinner. Ask her things like, "How do you make meatloaf?" or "What are you doing?" When she tells you she's working, sigh impatiently and tell her, "You're no fun."
 
Whenever you go to her house to visit, point at things you like such as a small marble-top table or an antique lamp and say, "You don't want that anymore, do you?" When she says you can't have it, point at something else and ask, "What about that?"
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: When your Mom tells you you can't have one of the two marble-top tables because they're promised to your sister, you can annoy your sister by asking her for one of the tables. When your sister says that she didn't even know there were two but you can't have either, say, "See, you didn't even know there were two. I could've taken one and you wouldn't have even known!")
 
Call your Mom at work and ask her if she needs to get her hair cut that weekend. When she says no, insist that she needs to get it cut. When she again tell you that no, she doesn't need a haircut, ask her, "Are you sure?" When she finally asks you what your problem is, confess that you wanted her to go to the stylist that weekend so you could go with her and get your hair done, too. Her treat.
 
She'll be annoyed. Trust me, I speak from experience.

A.R.M.
03/28/02