Tattooed Diaries

I don’t make any excuses. Why should I? There are none to make. I could say that my mother didn’t love me enough, my father was absent, my family was dysfunctional. Hell, my family belonged on Jerry Springer they were so dysfunctional. My point is, growing up my family was pretty screwed up. As a teenager and young adult I made some pretty screwed up choices. I don’t make excuses for it. I don’t place blame for it. I don’t want pity for any of it. Some of it I had control over. A lot of it I didn’t. It was just stuff that was and I made the best out of what were bad situations. It’s all that anyone really can do until things either change on their own or they can change them.

I also chose to learn from these experiences and try and make myself a better person. I didn’t walk away from an abusive relationship bitter and hating men. I learned from my mother what kind of parent I didn’t want to be and how to spot manipulative abusive people. I also learned how unhealthy it is to have poisonous people in your life. Because of my step-father I have chosen to be tolerant and understanding of those with mental disorders as well as non-judgmental of those with different lifestyle choices. Both my mother and step-father taught me intolerance of abusive people and that abuse comes in many more forms than just physical. Scars from mental and emotional abuse take longer to heal.

These things have just helped form me into who and what I am. Oddly, I am not to horribly fucked up. I haven’t had to go through years of therapy to find myself and be able to have a normal relationship with anyone. For this I am grateful. I also find it surprising because of the number of times that I have allowed myself to be screwed over by those who claimed to be my friends. Friendship isn’t something I give away easily because people tend to be judgmental. They would rather focus on your faults and pick you apart than accept you for who and what you are. People, for the most part, are incapable of accepting others unconditionally.

There are very few people that have come into my life that have been able to do that. I can list them on one hand and have fingers left over. They know who they are. I love each of them for who they are and for the part they have played in my life. Every one of them have made me a better person in so many ways. Each of them accepted me for me when others wouldn’t. They didn’t judge me, they didn’t ridicule me, they never once looked at me and said, “You are not like me, therefore you can’t be my friend” as so many others had done. They accepted me for me. No questions asked. Even when they found out how screwed up my life was, they accepted me.

To the three of you…Steve, Richard, and Shelly (even though you are no longer with us and I miss horribly)…I want to say thank you. You have helped make my life what it is and made me a better person. I am sure that without the three of you I would have turned out horribly screwed up. Thank you for teaching me about true friendship when the lesson was needed the most.

…And today is Thursday. I had to check my computer just to make sure. My concept of time sucks so I rarely know what day it is.

Waking up this morning I found two messages waiting for me on my computer. One of them was from someone that I don’t remember why I added to my instant messenger. I only get messages from him when he’s promoting his online radio show. He never talks to me. He also only goes on the internet radio waves when drunk. Not interested, moving on. The second message was from an actual friend of mine that I haven’t heard from in a while and her message disturbed me. I checked the time on it, she sent it right after I went to bed last night.

Shit.

Had I actually sat here at my computer and waiting on my husband to quit doing Jawa things it would have been a late night for me. That’s just the way it goes sometimes. I feel like crap that I wasn’t here and I hope that everything is okay. We all have bad days, some of us have more of them than others. Yes, I know, everyone needs sleep and we can’t be at the computer 24/7 and all that jazz, but when you miss the important messages like this one

Tell me Georga…what keeps you going…what prevents you from just ending it all…because I am about ready to do that…

You are going to feel like shit rest of the day. It’s just the way it is. I am also reminded of a Post Secret card that was put up on Sunday.

I know I have said it a million times, but I am going to say it again, this time for the entire internet to see. Thank you, Steve.

The thing is, there was a time I was pretty self destructive and didn’t think that things could get any worse. At 14 and 15 some would call it typical teen angst, but it really wasn’t like that. My family went far beyond dysfunctional into the world of truly fucked up. We are talking Jerry Springer fucked up. Maybe worse.

I don’t remember what spawned the conversation last week, but I was telling my husband about the scars on my knuckles and the first bend of my fingers. They are on my right hand, first, second and third fingers and pretty noticeable. I am lucky I didn’t break my fingers. During a rather horrible day I decided to take my anger and frustrations out on a rather large oak tree. Oak trees have no give. My hand was a bloodied mess and I didn’t do myself any favors. In need of bandages I went looking for the lifeguard (Steve) and his first aid kit. To this day I don’t know how he was able to calmly put up with my bullshit and deal with it but he was. That alone I think should qualify him for sainthood. Without saying a word he ever so lovingly he took my hand, led me over to the guardhouse, sat me down and shoved my hand into the pool water to clean it out. It stung like hell and I had a few choice names for him. He gave me that charming smile of his that I loved so much and said “You aren’t going to go punching any more trees are you?” Bastard. He refused to let me remove my stinging hand from the pool or bandage up my hand until I agreed.

Thing is, to this day I wouldn’t trade his friendship for anything in the world. He kept me from loosing my mind that was skating on thin ice. He was the friend at a time when I needed one the most. He listened to all my bitching, he was my shoulder to cry on and he never judged me. He was there during what was easily one of the worst times of my life. He was there for me when my friend Shelly was killed by a drunk driver. During what was to be another bad time, he was only a text message away. In one way or another he has been there when I have needed him the most.

Because of him I have always tried to be that person for my friends. Steve may not agree with me on this, but I really think he is an example a lot of us could learn from. True loyalty is something rare in the world these days. It’s something that has rarely been given to me, and more than once I thought that it had been given only to find myself to be thrown to the lions later for sport.

How do I keep my sanity today and not loose it among 7 kids, homeschooling, autism, life threatening food allergies, Graves disease, Celiac disease, my husbands health problems that on the worst of days he doesn’t take care of and my own health issues? Lots of rum and tequila. Seriously, I learned a long time ago that things can always be worse. It’s all about my attitude and how I chose to deal with it all. I can either let it all get to me and find myself at the end of the day curled up in a corner in a fetal position crying or I can choose to find the absurdity in the fact that my youngest was worried about the bats in the attic being scared of yesterdays storm, not the fact that we lost power. Here we were, standing in the dark in a torrential downpour, high winds, tornado warnings and my seven year old autistic son is worried that the bats in the attic were scared. Welcome to my life. It’s those moments I choose to focus on and not the one gallon of pancake syrup dumped in the carpet and the brand new bottles of ketchup and mustard smeared down the walls. It’s much more interesting when you focus on the random sentence you hear coming out of the next room “Dalton has Will Turner on his ass.” Than your two teenagers bickering and calling each other names. If you focus on the negative your head will eventually explode or implode depending on how you are wired.

After growing up in a family where there was nothing positive to focus on you learn that. I needed help learning that. Luckily I learned it early enough that I didn’t end up to screwed up.

That doesn’t change the fact that it’s Thursday and I feel like shit that I wasn’t here for someone who needed me last night. My load to carry is no heavier than hers and not much different, we just have different perspectives. I hope today is a better day for her.

Some days I really hate people more than other days.  Yesterday was one of those days.  My husband and I were sitting in Taco Bell at the wrong time of the day.  By the wrong time of the day, I mean after church let out.  Taco Bell seemed to be the wholesome family gathering spot.  To borrow a line from the 1980 movie Up the Academy, I stuck out a turd in the punch bowl with (as my kids call it) my spiky Dragonball Z hair, tattoos and bondage shorts.  My husband noticed that there were many people in the restaurant staring daggers at me.  He said he was waiting for the woman next to us to start going off about if I thought I was setting a good example or something.

Lady, it’s not my job to set an example for your child.  Do your job and raise your child and don’t worry about the Gen X punker who never conformed sitting next to you in Taco Bell.  I am not contagious, honest, although I think the world would be a better place some days if it were.  My kids are well adjusted and I don’t have to worry about them sneaking off and doing drugs or getting knocked up when I am not looking.  Granted, I might have to worry about them coming home with three foot green mohawks and questionable body piercings, but if that is all I have to worry, I think I am doing good.  Your kid might actually learn something from me.

Like how you shouldn’t jump to conclusions and judge someone based on their outward appearance.

Last winter as I was walking into Target there was an old woman inside the door who was having some problems.  I mean she was old enough to be my grandmother and she was trying to get a cart and was dropping everything, purse, keys, etc. and having trouble bending over to pick things up.  I walk with a cane, and it’s not always easy for me to get around.  As I was entering the store I watched as the “norms”, those who normally stare daggers at me for daring to look different, those who judge me based on my tattoos, odd hair and manner of dress, ignored this old woman who was having problems and breezed past her, not paying her any mind, not stopping to help, not bothering to be inconvenienced for two minutes to help a stranger.  I was the one that went over to help her.  Me.  The one that people look at and label “outcast”, “weird chick” or “miscreant of society”.

Irony at it’s best.

I am really not worried about the example I am setting for anyone.  I am happy with who I am and I am able to face myself in the mirror each day without any regrets and without having to justify any hypocrisy.  Can other people say the same?

Today I am reminded of someone I knew in 10th grade named Christopher. Christopher was as straight edged and as yuppie as they came. I met him in academic chemistry and he followed me to lunch. I couldn’t get rid of him after that. I tried. I really did. He was like a lost puppy looking for a home.

I have no idea what his fascination was with me, but at least twice a week he gave another compelling, if not slightly misguided, argument as to why I should be his girlfriend. Christopher was either bored, legitimacy attracted to me as a moth is attracted to flame, or looking for the perfect rebellious way to piss off his religious father. My money was on number three. At any rate, no good was going to come out of it regardless of his reasoning.

I am sure that Christopher was partly insane because 1. being the goody goody straight edge Christian son of a pastor you don’t dating the biggest antisocial punker chick in the school unless you are trying to start shit with your family and embarrass your father at church and 2. you don’t go hitting on someone who you know has a completely psychotic boyfriend.

The thing was, I knew my boyfriend was an asshole and normal boy wasn’t the solution. The problem was my family was so dysfunctional and abusive and had me so screwed up that sadly I had to live through a fucked up relationship first hand in order to be able to break that cycle. It’s helped beat, twist, spindle, fold, spindle and mutilate me into the person that I am today. I lived through it, I learned many painful lessons, and I am better person for it.

I told Christopher honestly, and I was brutal about it, that there was one person who I was madly in love with at the time (well, at least I thought I was at the time, it was nothing more than an out of control crush and idolization) and he was the only person that I would break up with my boyfriend for if he asked without a second thought. No questions asked. Christopher didn’t like that and wanted to know who he was where he could kick his ass. I laughed in his face and walked off. Yes, I was that cruel. Three days later Christopher handed me another love letter. He never gave up. I had to give him that.

This brings me to today and the natives of Myspace. The men becoming interested in me are starting to scare me. I would feel safer in a mosh pit at a GWAR concert than looking for a possible date on Myspace. Thank the dating gods that I am off the market. The norms scare the hell out of me. First, there was the Chinese guy who really didn’t care that I was married and wanted to know if I loved my husband. Actually, I am one of those stupid American women that stay married to a man I hate because he has lots of money and fuck around on him ever chance I get. Idiot.

Today, a very nice gentleman named Aaron contacted me on Myspace. His profile reads like an extra long personal ad (he enjoys long walks on the beach, romantic movies, books not so much, home cooked meals, blues and jazz, he believes that communication is important) and he has one friend, Tom. My first question is, if Aaron is looking for a nice woman to marry, why is he hanging out on my internet radio show profile? Well, Aaron emailed me wanting to know if we could email each other and get to know each other. I told him before we did that, he really needed to check out my personal Myspace page and gave him the address.

Maybe the next time I should try a Jedi mind trick, because that certainly did not work. Had he looked at my personal Myspace page he would have know I was not the girl he was looking for and would have backed up about 50 paces. It states that I am married and I have children. I talk about these people in my blogs. It’s not like I hide them. My number one friend is my tattoo artist. I get paid to watch porn and I write smut.

In Aaron’s description of the perfect woman, the only thing that I fit is the word “interesting”. He ignores my request to check out my personal page and asks for my email address. I provide it and asks me to tell me about myself.

I never know how to respond to that. What do people what to know about me? Do they want to know the superficial things? My hair and eye color? My bra size? My favorite color or what music I listen to? Do they want to know who I will be voting for in the next presidential election and why? Do they want to know who I think is the better Star Trek captain? Do they want to know something more profound and deep like my hopes and dreams or why I think a lot of Christians are misguided?

I always err on the side of caution when asked to talk about myself and ask “What do you want to know about me?”

Today the answer was “I want to know everything that makes Georga Georga.”

Persistent, yet much removed from reality, much like Christopher from 10th grade. Dude, you are looking for something I can’t provide. Even if I could, you are sniffing around the wrong tree. Go mark your territory somewhere else. I don’t do normal. Never did.

I really didn’t feel like going into anything so I started ranting about how I couldn’t find my copy of Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk (the book, not the DVD, and I stressed that since he doesn’t read) and how I was looking for my Palahniuk books because I just read his newest novel was just released not to mention that Choke was being made into a movie as well. Like an idiot, I had confused it with Survivor, which the two books were really nothing alike, and I was going to be really pissed if it got screwed up in the adaptation and that all Palahniuk books should be required reading for everyone. For the full effect of my email, picture a a TV show satirizing a sci-fi geek at a convention going off on a tangent, only make it about Chuck Palahniuk books and Fight Club and you will get the full picture.

I really wish I could have saw the look on his face when he read that email because I freaked him out and now he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. His email back was, “I hope you find your book. Got to go…” I haven’t heard from him since. I can’t imagine why.

I scared a Christian today, and this time I didn’t do anything. All I did was step out of the post office and he just happened to be standing there in his black slacks, white dress shirt, tie, engraved name tag that also read “Church of the Latter Day Saints” and pocket protector. I am sure the last person he was expecting to see come out of the post office was me with my crazy spiked hair, tattoos and dragon cane. He jerked his head back, and when he addressed me his voice was barely over a mumble, “Uh…hello.” He tried to be polite.

“Hi.”  I said smiling.

The look on his face was one of shock that I would even address him. He retreated back to the car he arrived in and the safety of his companion who could have been his clone. I got into our van giggling. My husband gave me that look that told me he knew I had just done something I shouldn’t have.  “What did you do now?”

“I scared a Christian, and I didn’t have to do anything. This time.” He looked at me as if he didn’t believe me. “Notice I said this time. All I did was walk out of the post office, he was standing there when I came out and jerked his head back and mumbled hi to me.”

“I didn’t realize he said anything to you.”

“Yea, I could barely hear him.”

“He’s probably convinced he’s come into contact with a she-beast.” I giggled again. My husband is the normal one in this relationship. Someone has to be.

It dawned on me a bit later that if the Mormons were out and about at the post office they may be going door to door soon. I should get my porno cases ready. They will probably work just as well on them as the Jehovah’s Witnesses. My plan is to have a bag of empty porno cases on stand-by (and I put all my movies in a zipper case for discreetness) so when those who go door to door selling Jesus come by I can answer the door with said bag in hand, offer it to them and say, “Oh, you’re here from Craigslist for the empty porno cases.”

Yes, I realize that I am going to hell. I am sure that God has a good sense of humor, but I also realize that he can’t have me up there causing this kind of trouble. This is who I am. This is who I have always been and I am not going to change. I am happy.