Let’s Get The Party Started

I’ve been going over and over in my mind as to how to start this blog and what I want it to be.  Part of me wants people to “know” me.  To know about my life – the good, the bad, the totally shitty.  At the same time, I don’t ever want to portray the “victim mentality”.  I don’t feel sorry for myself or for anything that has happened to me.  Those things have molded me.  I figure a great place to start will be telling you more about me and the characters in my book of life.  Today I will start with me.  Enjoy!

Me.  Hmmmmm.  I’m a happy, naive, bright, intelligent, strong willed, people pleaser type of person.  I love life.  I love people.  Sometimes I hate life’s circumstances and the people that come with it.  Hate.  What a strong word.  I hate saying hate.  Honestly, I’m tired of people sugar coating everything they write so as to not be seen as weak, or to take the politically correct stance of everything is just unicorns who fart glitter and butterflies that never die.  So yeah, I hate some of the shit that happens and life.

I was born and raised in Pennsylvania, Harrisburg to be exact.  My mother was, in my opinion, the most awesome creature that walked on the face of this earth.  She died when I was 18.  I miss her everyday.   Before she passed, I moved myself to Texas.  Houston was calling me.  My aunt (my father’s sister) and her boys lived here.  Texas was my kind of town.  My aunt was the second greatest creature that walked this earth.  She took on the task of “raising” me after my mother passed.  She was NOT the type of person who sugar coated everything, which was exactly what I needed.  I didn’t understand until later when I became a mother, but my mother over protected me and everyone she took on as a friend, co-worker, employee, neighbor, etc.

My dad was around while I was growing up.  By around, I mean he lived in the same house, had two days off a week from the Post Office, but tried to pick-up overtime on those days so that we could make ends meet.  He wasn’t a bad father and I believe he loved me.  I don’t have any of those warm and fuzzy feelings and memories that a daughter usually has about her dad.  The last warm and fuzzy that I remember was when I was six and he was teaching me how to tie my shoes.  He loved us and he adored my mother.  He never did step into the role of “man of the house” which we needed.  As I share more, you may see what I mean.  On the other hand, you may say “you stupid bitch, you are lucky that you had what you did!”  And, you would be correct.  My feelings are what they are and I have some resentment.

I have an older sister.  She’s five years older.  She lives in New Jersey.  She was my hero, the person I looked up to.  She was the person that I wanted as my best friend.  Then drinking and drugs took over during her teenage years and things got ugly.  I have a lot of resentment.  I realize I need to let go of that resentment.  Easier said than done.  That relationship may always be a work in progress.  She is sober now and is doing the best that she can.  Hopefully someday we will have a relationship.  I’m about to be 50!  I better hurry up with that.

I also grew up with a man living in our house that I was told was my uncle….my mother’s brother.  He was 18 years older than me.  He’s an artist.  He never did anything hurtful during my growing up.  It was after my mom died that the shit hit the fan.  Again, much more on this will probably be shared later, but suffice it to say, finding out from him when he picked me up from the airport to take me to my mother who was on her death bed that he is actually my half brother, not my uncle really fucking sucked.

That’s just a little of my background.  I’ve embraced it.  I don’t hate it.  I’m probably more of a compassionate person because of it.

I hope whoever may be reading this little blog is intrigued by this.  This is my life.  It is non-fiction.  I often say that there is no way that you could make this shit up!

Cheers!