Bio of Insanity
Just who is Cristie and why would she publish her own website??
For years I have been told that my life is stranger than fiction. To me, it is just life. To others, it's one emergency, drama and tragedy after the other. I guess it's all in how you look at it. In my family an ambulance ride is as common as a cruise in the family mini van. A trip to the emergency room is an opportunity to catch up with good friends. A rare respiratory illness that lands you in intensive care is our version of the common cold and injuries don't count unless they involve stitches, blood and/or a broken bone (or two) and we always get pictures! I know you think I am exaggerating. I must be sensationalizing or using artistic license and stretching the truth, right? I only wish that were the case! Since I can't change reality, I can sure as hell laugh at it! I decided to chronicle a brief outline of the joyride I've called my life here to give you an idea of who I am...and believe me, this is just a "readers digest" version!
I was born in Santa Monica, California. My dad was with the CHP (California Highway Patrol) and we were transferred so much I thought the Beacon's movers were my extended family and I believed my name was "new girl" until I was in the 8th grade. I attended 14 schools before 7th grade. One year (third grade) my brothers and I didn't go to school at all because my dad was waiting for an impending transfer that never happened. Having a father in the CHP is similar to having a father in the military but instead of moving all over the country we moved all over California! I had to learn to overcome shyness in order to fit in. By the time I was in 7th grade we settled in a home on Folsom Lake in the thriving metropolis that is Loomis, California. I lived the life every teenagers dreams of; church and parties!!! Eventually, the staunch rules and structure of the Mormon life style lost out to my desire to have fun and get drunk. My parents failing marraige added to my stress in life so alcohol became my way out. We remained in Loomis until the summer before my senior year. That's when my two older brothers moved out, my parents divorced and my dog died, and no, I'm not kidding! (I was living in a country western song) .
At 17 I moved with my mom and my 5 year old sister to a swinging singles apartment complex in an upscale area of Sacramento where I raised my sister, and my mom went to work. I graduated mid-term since no normal, red-blooded teenager wants to be the "new girl" (again) in their senior year. I dated a psychotic Vietnam vet who was 15 years my senior, worked for a crazy chiropractor and cared for his geriatric patients all day and at night came home to the "family" where my mom's alcoholic boyfriend pinched my butt every time I turned around. Just an average childhood really.
I was raised "Mormon" sort of. We were not always active in the church however. I think this was partially due to our inability to stay in one place long enough for the lawn to need mowing. Also, it's not the easiest religion to follow...that's the understatement of the century! We were often referred to as "Jack Mormons". This term is used for Mormons that aren't completely faithful to the religion. Although, by that definition, most Mormons are probably some level of "jacks". After all, no one is perfect, and that is pretty much what the religion requires. Most people in the church hide their imperfections well however, so they avoid the unflattering distinction of being a "Jack Mormon".
At the ripe old age of 18, I realized I had become the stereotypical "teenage alcoholic". I stopped drinking with the help of an understanding (and forgiving) Mormon Bishop. It is cool that I was Mormon because this gave the Bishop who I confessed all of my sins to, the authority to forgive me on behalf of God. Yay!!! I was washed clean (figuratively speaking) and ready to start over!!!
At 19, with one year of sobriety under my belt, but with out the help of AA or any other sobriety support system, I did what I now believe to be a desperate move to escape my blessed life; I became engaged to a man I had known for less than a week. My future husband was the nephew of my Chiropractor boss. He set us up. We went out. Four days later he asked me to marry him. I accepted because I was getting old and had no better offers. Who else was I going to marry? One of the geriatric, chiropractic patients? Besides, he was perfect! My Bishop said so!! He was a good Mormon who had gone to seminary all four years in High School, served a 2 year mission for the church and graduated from BYU! He lived in Utah (of course) so he went back home while I planned our wedding (which took place only weeks later) at the Mormon Temple (which none of my family was permitted by the church to attend), followed by our extravagant reception in the local church's indoor basketball court. It was a glamorous lifestyle! Our honeymoon was in an old man's filthy apartment behind a bar in Kyburz, California that he rented to us for $100.00 for the week. That week together gave us the opportunity to learn important tid bits about each other...like our names and birthdates.
So there I am. The "little woman" at the tender age of 19 and married to an older man, (he was 26). Was I prepared for what came next? How could I be? How could any young girl be? I wasn't marrying a peer, I was marrying a man who had been out on his own for 8 years. I had never left my mother's home! What made it worse was that I was marrying a man that I did not know. Our families were thrilled with the union, our church strongly encouraged it. While I can't say it was an "arranged marriage" I can say that it was something akin to it. So why did I do it? To escape my home environment? Did I hope to be "saved"? Did I really believe it was just "the right thing to do"?? To be completely honest, I really don't know.
Over the next several years, I helped to put my new husband through UCSF dental school. I helped support him financially, emotionally and physically. I did all the housework, shopping, cooking, etc. while helping him study at nights and, at times, taking him lunch at school. I was not happy, and I really don't know if I realized just how unhappy I was, but I think the fact that I cried myself to sleep every night should have been some kind of major red flag for both of us! But I was loyal and tried hard to be a good wife. I worked at UCSF Hospital in the admitting, (boy, are there some great stories there!) until I was a few months pregnant. I had already lost one baby to miscarraige and was having complications with this one so I was told I could no longer work. I did what I could from home, doing dental lab work for my husband's father's dental practice. I gave birth to our first and second daughters, Miranda "Randi" and Sylvia (these are not my children's REAL names by the way. For the record, I would never name a kid "Sylvia"!) while we were in San Francisco. I loved my children, but not my marriage. I'd been in therapy for over a year at this time...sometimes he'd join me. It didn't help. I studied to become a Parent Education Instructor.
Upon his graduation from Dental School (that I feel we BOTH worked hard to achieve), we moved to Roseville so he could join his father's dental practice.
I began teaching a Parent Education Class based on P.E.T. (Parent Effectiveness Training) and S.T.E.P. (Systematic Training for Effective Parenting), at nights. Although I miscarried often and had a still birth, I had 3 more children; Carson (my only son) in 1986, Caley in 1989 and Maya in 1994. I was a full time mom and loved every minute of that aspect of my life! My children were, and always will be, my pride and joy! It wasn't long until our dental practice was thriving and growing. We bought some prime real estate and built one of the premier, state of the art dental offices in the Western United States. It was, and still is, the most successful in the area. About 1997 or so, a National Dental Company came calling and wanted to partner up (so to speak). More growth, more success, more unhappy marriage.
After my hysterectomy and a few other odds and ends of surgeries between 1995 and 1998 I took every drug the doctors gave me. Translation; I took every drug you can imagine getting a prescription for, and many you can't! I took them in copius amounts and often. I lived my life in a cloud. I became what we call a "High Functioning Addict". "High" is right! I basically had a chemical lobotomy. My marriage became almost tolerable. Although I had stopped drinking as a teenager, I never went to AA or recieved any help to learn how to deal with my addictive nature. I thought AA was for "old people". How wrong I was!
When you realize all of the other things that were also going on in my life, you may further understand why I relied so heavily on prescription drugs...
Again, keep in mind, this is fact, not fiction!
Between the years of 1979 and 1994 (15 years for those of you that are not math whizzes), I had approximately 20 miscarriages and/or still-births. I suffered from something called a Corpus Ludeum Defect (no one likes being told they are defective in any way...do they?) that made carrying babies to term very difficult.
I had 5 live births. My children are definitely survivors! All pregnancies were high risk and at least partial bed rest. The last was full bed rest...it may sound like a vacation but I'd like to go on record as saying, "OH NO, IT'S NOT!"
I had severe appendicitis and an appendectomy a mere three months into my young married life!
I was pregnant during that surgery and subsequently suffered my first miscarriage.
I suffered a severe infection after my miscarriage and landed back in the hospital for surgery and antibiotics.
I battled severe depression throughout my 21 year marriage. As a result, doctors began to medicate me heavily.
In 1982 I enjoyed the first of what would be many, many migraine headaches!...and I was prescribed more medication!
Also in 1982, due to many symptoms ranging from severe muscular pain to burning and redness in my eyes and debilitating fatigue I under went a series of medical tests. Possible prognosis' that were brought up ranged from leukemia to a brain tumor. My first two daughters were 2 years old and 6 months.
By 1983 I was diagnosed with Sjogren's Syndrome, Fibromyalgia and Mixed Connective Tissue Disease. I was told I tested positive for ANA (Anti Nuclear Antibody). My body was making antibodies against my own healthy tissue, sort of like when a transplant patient's body rejects the transplanted organ. Let the good times roll!
My second daughter, Sylvia, was hospitalized in 1984 at the age of two with severe dehydration due to giardia she picked up on a family camping trip. She spent almost a week in the pediatric ward.
1985 brought more fun when our 5 year old, Randi, came down with severe bronchitis. She was very sick for over a month! She followed that up with a nasty gastro-intestinal infection that landed her in the hospital on deaths door! She lost 25% of her body weight and got sicker by the day. Eating made her deathly sick. She was bleeding internally so with no real diagnosis, we signed a consent for her to receive a very strong experimental medication hoping it would kill whatever bacteria had taken over her intestines. Gratefully it worked. After weeks of touch and go, we took a very frail little girl home from the hospital just before Christmas!
I had our son, Carson, 2 weeks prematurely in 1986. He was fine though! Something went right! Shortly afterwards, I became very sick with a severe digestive disorder. I began extensive medical testing.
At 9 months old, Carson was hospitalized with Spinal Meningitis. We were told he would very likely suffer brain damage. He could end up deaf, blind and retarded...if he lived. In case you are keeping track, that's 3 children hospitalized in as many years. All with life threatening illnesses. Once again we were blessed with a miracle and Carson recovered completely, despite the doctors pessimistic attitude!
I spent 1987 undergoing the most gruesome medical testing imaginable as we tried to diagnose a reason for my severe digestive symptoms.
By 1988 I was eating a totally vegan diet and "juicing". I had tried every holistic therapy known to man. I had people laying crystals on me and sticking their fingers in my naval. I was prayed over and danced around.
Despite doctors telling me I could not conceive again due to severe "female problems" I became pregnant. At 3 months pregnant I began to bleed very heavily. I was told that I was miscarrying and that nothing could be done. They were wrong. I continued to bleed throughout the entire pregnancy. Then, at 5 months pregnant the baby was diagnosed with IUGR (Intra Uterine Growth Retardation) and I was urged to "terminate the pregnancy". This apparently is the polite way to try to convince a mother to kill her own unborn baby. I was told that the baby had severe congenital defects (again with the "defect" word!) and that she would likely die within hours of birth. I rejected their medical "advice". After 32 ultrasounds and numerous doctors giving me nothing but negative reports and constant warnings that my daughter would not live more than a day beyond birth, Caley was born 3 weeks early, tiny and perfectly healthy! So much for medical "science"!
As a Mormon, you are always actively involved in some kind of church service. During this period of time I was the Young Woman's President in our Ward (congregation) and my husband was teaching an early morning seminary class for teenagers. These jobs are voluntary, yet expected. In any given week it was not uncommon for me to devote 20 hours or more to my "calling".
In 1993 I was having fun with my kids on my new roller blades and ended up with a torn medial colladeral Ligament tear and surgery...always, more surgery! Crutches, leg brace, physical therapy.
As the years passed I endured many more miscarriages and a stillborn son while raising my 4 children. I conceived again and after 8 months of complete and total bed rest I gave birth to my 5th child! A daughter, Maya, 4 weeks prematurely on March 24, 1994. Words can't begin to convey what it's like to be hooked to a monitor 24/7 that is closely watched from a nurses station. I had a "subcutaneous" needle in my leg with medication pumping into it that kept my contractions at bay. Maya was born after many hours of a complicated birth with her umbilical cord wrapped 3 times around her neck! It is a miracle that she lived.
Also during 1994 our second daughter, Sylvia, in what I can only assume was an attempt to be more like me, began having some horrible digestive problems. She underwent the same glorious battery of tests that I had become so familiar with. Nothing can prepare you for the complete lack of dignity you suffer when you are subjected to these tests. For a 12 year old girl it was nothing less than a nightmare! At this time three people in our family were diagnosed with giardia. (What can I say...we are back packers!) We were all treated but Sylvia's symptoms persisted. She ran a very high fever and was in and out of the hospital. She saw a rheumatologist and was diagnosed with the same Auto-Immune Disorder that I had. She had a positive ANA. Eventually, (after losing so much weight that she looked like a refugee), she was put on a broad spectrum antibiotic and she did recover, although the positive ANA and it's myriad of symptoms, is incurable. She had been sick almost one year!
Randi tore her hamstring cheerleading in 1995. She was in bed for a week, on crutches for 6 more.
Shortly after the hamstring incident, my son (Carson) developed a terrible cough. Not your normal cough...a gagging, choking, can't breathe (whooping?) type cough! Lots of tests and cough syrup but still his condition worsened. The doctor continued to insist ir would get better. Then the next child in line (Caley) developed the same cough. More tests to no avail. Lo and behold our baby contracted the cough next. I repeatedly told the doctors that I knew something else was wrong. They continually ignored me. I finally insisted on an x-ray of the baby's (Maya's) lungs. They resisted but I persisted. When they finally did the x-rays, they said her lungs were severely inflamed but they saw no fluid in them. They said she did not have pneumonia. I was supposed to be happy about this but they could not explain to me why her lungs were inflamed! During this time, I was told I needed a hysterectomy...but not without complications. Long story short, Maya (at a mere 16 months old) ended up in an intensive care unit. The CDC was brought in and all three of the youngest kids were diagnosed with a rare strain of Adeno Virus; a respiratory virus that unfortunately had been left untreated way too long. From the time I first took my son to the doctor until I switched to a different doctor who finally diagnosed it, it had been 6 weeks. Enough time for permanent scarring to occur. They would all be left with permanent respiratory damage and asthma. For two years all three of them received nebulizor treatments with steroids and other powerful drugs every 2 hours. We'd finish one child and begin the next 'round the clock! What a hellacious 2 years! To this day they all suffer from various forms of respiratory symptoms from chronic sinus pain and infections to asthma...no, we did not sue the original doctor. My husband "forbid" it!
At the end of that year (1995), Sylvia broke her foot one day, her other foot the next and then her hand the next day...no, I'm NOT kidding! I think she was afraid she wasn't getting enough attention so when my husband and I were out of town at a convention, she also had an accident which resulted in a severe concussion. We left the convention early! Randi got to enjoy a tonsillectomy (yes everyone wanted a turn at the fun).
I began taking copious amounts of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety medications and sleeping meds...can you blame me?
Aaaahhhhhhhhh 1996...Carson crashed his bike, crushed his helmet and suffered a concussion. 4 out of our 5 kids contracted Hand, Foot and Mouth disease. (please don't ask me how!) All 5 came down with Strep. Three of the kids developed Scarlet Fever as a result of the Strep bacteria infecting the open sores from the Hand, Foot & Mouth disease. Our oldest got a serious kidney infection. My husband was dealing with kidney stones. Sylvia and Caley had Tonsillectomies and Sinus surgery 4 days apart. Less than a month later, I had the same surgery...at 36 years old. I'd rather give birth to a buffalo than go through that surgery again! Maya began to have debilitating back pain (at only 2 years old) and that landed her in the pediatric ward. We were on a first name basis with everyone there by now. Turns out she had a problem with her kidneys. No problem. A minor surgical procedure and she was as good as new!
In 1996 our oldest, Randi once again spent time in the hospital having a routine knee surgery. At least it would have been routine if the doctor had remembered to sterilize his equipment when he did his post-op check and dug into the incision looking for a stray stitch. He did not however, and he succeeded in infecting her knee with an ugly staff infection. She ended up with osteomylytis (an infection in the bone) and we were told that they were not sure she would make it. Her only hope was to amputate the leg above the knee. Our 16 year old daughter (a reigning beauty queen, active athlete and cheerleader) would have to lose her leg! Once again, God smiled upon us and a brilliant surgeon (NOT the one that performed the original surgery that almost killed her!) was able to save her life and her leg! She spent time in the hospital and 6 weeks afterwards at home with a pik line I.V. to her heart and an in-home nurse but, she pulled through! With her leg!! Thank God! No, we did NOT sue the original surgeon. I tried to, even though my husband forbid that one too...but I never succeeded...long story!
1998 just brought more fun. My digestive problems had only worsened and I became critically ill and had a major surgery known as a colectomy. Basically, my entire large intestine was removed and resectioned. There was talk of a colostomy but I told the doctor that if he put a bag on me to not even bother to wake me up! I did end up with a lovely scar down my tummy but thank God, no bag! The fun never ends! I was released from the hospital on Thanksgiving day My husband picked me up and took me directly to his family's home to "enjoy" the day with 18 children crawling on me.
By now I had made several failed attempts to get off all of my medications.
- ..By the year 2000, I had enjoyed (?) the use of every prescription drug known to man. I had taken over 6 drugs in the Benzodiazepine family, more opiates than you can imagine (but for those of you with very little imagination: I had morphine pills, timed release morphine, which I chewed, liquid morphine to wash it all down, and Methadone as well as transdermal Fentanyl patches and Fentanyl suckers (yes, they really make those) as well as a host of lower level narcotics. I took several barbiturates, anti-anxiety meds, amphetamines to wake me up and sleeping pills to knock me out. I was on pills for nerve pain and pills for depression. I was on pills to fight the side effects of other pills!
Yes, I do have medical problems, but nothing that warranted that type of medication (in my opinion, which is always right). Ironically (or maybe not) the doctor I had at that time would not help me titrate off the meds. He said I could not survive without them and even if I did, I would have no quality of life. Hmmm...and he thought I was living a quality life?
My insurance did not pay for rehab from prescription drugs. Kind of a conflict of interest sort of thing. They would pay for rehab if I was an alcoholic. They would pay if I was hooked on street drugs. They would not, however, support me in my efforts to get off life threatening amounts of drugs that they had been helping to pay for. Don't ask me why! After all, if I quit taking them it would save them over $20,000.00 a month, no kidding! Try to tell me (some) doctors aren't legalized pushers!
*I would like to add a note here and state that I do not, in ANY way, mean to imply that ALL doctors are mis-guided. That is why I said "some" doctors. Many doctors (my own brother for one) are wonderful, professional and compassionate.
I had tried to get off of the medications on my own plenty of times. With the pressures of a very busy home life, a church that stripped me of my identity and demanded perfection in every way and a husband that...let's just say, wasn't good for me, I was never successful. Against the advice of every professional in the area of "Drug Detox" I checked into a hotel by myself and proceeded to get my self off of all meds. I was told this was suicide. I could succumb to seizures, heart attacks, coma and more than likely, death. I did it anyway. I had no choice.
Several days into it, with no phone calls or support from anyone, (my kids did not even know where I was and my husband was...unconcerned), I called a friend. Faye came as soon as I called her and hardly ever left my side the whole time I was there. During that time I suffered severe headaches, DTs, vomiting, sweating, shaking, enormous pain, heart irregularities and palpitations and seizures. Then, I drove myself to Southern Cal to be treated at their Behavioral Medicine Inpatient Clinic for recovering addicts.
After a short stint there, I needed to find a better place. One where the patients weren't part of the witness protection program and the men didn't threaten the woman with rape.
The short version is that I ended up finding a wonderful rehab facility for woman in Sacramento, California where I lived for 3 months. I was the only "high functioning addict" there. All of the other woman, (whom I came to love as my own sisters), were street drug addicts and alcoholics. Most were self proclaimed "Crack Hos". I am still in touch with those that remain clean.
I also have remained active in the recovery community helping out however I can. I do guided meditations for the woman, cut their hair, council with them, donate clothing and other much needed items and, with the help of my wonderful kids and generous friends, I organized, shopped and cooked in order to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the woman and their families of a rehab facility in Sacramento. We all loved the experience! I chair AA meetings and have been guest speaker at various meetings and functions. I teach drug awareness classes to high school kids. If I can save anyone from a life of problems like mine, I will.
My life is full and complete without the use of all those drugs. I still have my share of medical issues and will always need some medications. I still deal with the same medical issues and pain that I did many years ago when all of this first started. Some would argue that I am not truly an "addict" as I can now control the use of my medications. I will never allow myself to be on the number of drugs or the types of drugs that I was on at one point in my life.
Whether or not I am an "addict" or not is unimportant to me. What is important is that I only take the meds I need to live a comfortable lifestyle and I haven't had a drink in almost 32 years, but with a history and health like mine, why would I?
So, when I'm seen out on the town with friends and having a good time...believe me, I'm SOBER!!!
An odd subtitle for this chapter in my life? Not really. You would know this if you were one of the, not so chosen, few divorcés out there. We are, for the most part, survivors, in every sense of the word. There are those in our ranks who have fallen. Those who have been so deeply hurt, jaded, or frightened that they have given up on relationships, love, and for a very unfortunate few, life itself. For them I offer a silent prayer.
I am grateful to call myself one of the survivors. I think of myself as a survivor because, in many ways, divorce can be a lot like war. Often the goal (to go peacefully your own ways) gets lost and two otherwise civilized people morph into someone they would not have previously recognized. We become fighters and casualties and only the strong survive with their hearts in tact. Fortunately, I AM strong!
For me, that "morphization" (my own word...what can I say? Artistic license!) was a good thing. I broke out of the shell I had been hiding in for over 21 years. For the first time since I was married I felt strong, powerful and in control. I spoke my mind and said things I had been holding in for all those years for fear of disapproval from my church or my husband, who had also become a Mormon Bishop. That is when I decided to be me. I felt I was sort of a caterpillar during my marriage. Then I formed a protective cocoon in rehab. Now it was my time to spread my wings and become the butterfly I was meant to be.
At this time I choose to keep the details of my divorce and the details of my awful marriage to myself to protect my children, but as they are getting older the truth is coming out anyway so in the future I may choose to share some of that nightmare with my readers with the hope of helping other women going through similar challenges.
What is important is the effect that it had on me and my life and who I was able to become as a result of getting out of a relationship that was stifling to me and my personal growth. With my mind clear of all the drugs I had previously been on, I saw everything in my life differently. I knew my marriage was over and had been for a long time...or perhaps, it had never really begun? I knew that I was holding part of myself back. Probably 80% of "me" had been safely tucked away for as long as I could remember.
I got my own place for the first time in my life...with my 2 youngest daughters, of course! They were 6 and 10. My 14 year old son was just starting High School and remained with his father so he wouldn't have to move out of the neighborhood or High School district. This broke my heart as I had always been a fulltime mom to ALL of my children, but I understood and respected his decision. I wanted to stay in the house with the 3 youngest whom I had always been there for as a full time mom, but thier father refused to move out of "his" house. Nice. The 2 oldest girls were already on their own. I began homeschooling Maya and Caley out of frustration with the public school system.
I learned that I was a strong person with opinions and interests of my own. I now know that different people treat me differently. It is up to me to decide how I want to be treated and surround myself with those who treat me with the respect and dignity that I (and every human being) deserve! I choose to not be a victim anymore.
Yes, there is life after divorce...and for many of us, it's even better than we ever imagined!
So, there I was...40 years old. Divorced mother of five, turned loose in a world I really did not understand. I was not (previously) Amish... but just about. Let's just say I had lead a VERY sheltered life. Not having dated since I was 18, (and drunk) I had no idea what the adult dating scene was all about! Boy, did I learn the hard way!
Here's a little bit about what I've learned:
1). If you develop a friendship with a "man" that you think is GAY for the entire first month you know him...he's probably not the gay...oops, I meant guy for you.
2). If you find out your Cutie Patootie is on steroids...he's probably not the man for you.
3). If your Snuggle Bunny threatens you with a loaded gun, tries to push you down the stairs and/or locks you in a closet...he's probably not the man for...anybody!
4). When you find that your Sugar Buns has collected the valid driver's licenses of eight of his former girlfriends, and every one of them has "disappeared"...he should be in jail!!
5). If your Main Squeeze; a).Does not have any credit cards b). Does not have any kind of a bank account, and c). Lives on a big boat so he can't be traced or found by an address...he's probably hiding from something or someone, and that can't be good!
6). When your Love Nuts gets jealous and mad at YOU when another man notices you...get a new man!
7). If your new Cheeky Monkey tells you you'll get brain damage from your cell phone and that microwaving food, even water, makes it toxic...move on!
8). When a Puddin' Head, whom you've known less than a week tells you;
a). You're the woman of his dreams
b). He loves you, or
c). He's ready to marry you!...Run for the hills!!!
9). If your Tinkle Monkey keeps up to $75 grand in an old McDonald's bag under the back seat of his truck... He may be up to no good.
10). If your Boo Boo Munchkin mentions offhandedly that he'd rescue a dog in danger over a small child...he's definitely not right in the head!
11). If your Sweetie Pie finds your feet to be the sexiest part of you...he may have issues.
12). When your butter muffin spends more time styling his one inch of hair than you do on yours...he may be a bit of a narcissist!
13). When you find that your Smoochy Bear invents imaginary friends because he has none of his own...He is definitely MENTAL!
I've also learned that:
*If people see pictures of you having a good time, you are labeled a "partier", but if you have pictures of yourself doing normal, everyday, mom-like chores like cleaning the toilet, cooking dinner or organizing the garage, no one is interested in seeing them. Quite the dilemma...
*When you are at a party, concert or club having a really good time, people automatically think that you are drunk...even if you don't drink. Ironic, isn't it?
*If you are friendly to (most) men, they think you are "coming on to" them. Whatever happened to being friendly for friendships sake?
*Kids hate it when their friends call their mom a MILF.
*Date for fun & friendship without expectations, but be open to more. If you find the right "someone" for you in the process, you are very, very blessed. If you don't, you are still very blessed with a great friend!
*Ex-husbands don't like ex-wives to look good.
*Children of single moms want to know where you are going and who you are with at all times...but that doesn't mean we are obligated to tell them!
*If there are places to meet single, stable, successful (employed is good), decent men in the over 40 range, I don't know where they are!
*We never stop learning...hopefully.
*Life may not be easy...but it's worth it!
I'm waaaay overdue to fill in this section of my bio...probably because the last decade has flown by faster than I could have ever imagined.
Patience Grasshoppa...PATIENCE!
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