I Never Knew Selling Your House Was Such an Invasive Process...

Good evening, Wonderers.  As I mentioned in my last post, I'm trying to use blogging as a means of therapy (since I don't currently have time to take advantage of the free therapy sessions my mother's former therapist has offered to me), and since yesterday was a pretty awful day many ways around, I thought it would be a good excuse to write.

I'm not going to talk about driving out of my way to go to the Auto Club and deliver my request for a duplicate title to my car, only to find out that I only have to have my buyer fill out the reverse side of the request form because the form acts as the title.  And my registration is overdue.

I'm not going to talk about driving to two separate stores to find a hair catch for the shower drain, and how neither store had what I was looking for.  To be fair, one store had it, but they were out of stock.

I'm not going to talk about having to go to class on no sleep, filled with anxiety and frustration from 4-10pm.  Or how some of the girls in my cohort make me frustrated and jealous because they decided to take leaves of absence from work (or any number of other decisions to take responsibility and burden off their plates), whilst I'm watching my life fall apart around me.

What I'm going to talk about is the truly invasive, rapey process of selling a house.

Now, I'm not gonna say that I'm not extra emotional given the other circumstances of my life.  Doing pretty much anything is more difficult while simultaneously grieving the loss of my mother.  But I feel like I've been moving for the past three months and we are FINALLY down to the last week in my childhood home.

The thing that has affected me the most throughout this whole ordeal is the number of times I have been asked to LEAVE MY HOUSE.  I understand that it is easier to sell a house when the occupants are not there, but when all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry about everything that is happening in my life, being told to be anywhere but home is very upsetting.  Thankfully, the house was only on the market for four days before it was sold.  But since it has been sold, I have still been asked on multiple occasions to vacate the premises.  The buyers want to come by and look at the house again.  The buyers want to come make decisions about how they are going to "flip" it and sell it for a higher price.  As we are coming to the end of our move, my dad and I have been decidedly more emotional about leaving.  Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.  Make no mistake, I didn't have an emotional outburst or throw a tantrum, or point a shotgun a la Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino.  But it certainly didn't make my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day any better.

Yesterday, I called my dad on my way home from work to let him know that I would be returning to the house for a few hours before class.  I wanted to get more things done.  He told me that the buyers were there with their crew, taking measurements and making decisions, and that he was not thrilled about their presence in the house.  After my aforementioned adventures in frustration, I returned to my home to find the buyer and their contractors still at the house.  They were there for an additional hour before leaving for the day.

Am I wrong, or is it kind of inconsiderate and horrible that these people couldn't wait another SEVEN days for us to be gone?  It is also particularly difficult to pack up your stuff when there are people wandering around your house from room to room, and making you all the more painfully aware that your house is not your home anymore.  It also feels a lot like being forcibly removed from the building by a corrupt security guard.  As if to say, "you may leave at our earliest convenience."  I have been sexually assaulted and felt less raped than that.

So my internal response to these people is this:  You want me to get out?  I have news for you, this is still my house for a few more days.  YOU get out.  Get the FUCK out of my house!

Moving sucks.  Grieving sucks.  Bad days suck.

Rant over.

And The World Looks Different...

Hello Wonderers! (All one of you!)

I am trying to get back into the blog thing as a sort of therapeutic adventure in coping with my mom's death.  So here goes nothing.

Have you ever noticed that when you hit a major life milestone, you begin to see the world differently? The most notable, certainly the most commonly mentioned, of these events seems to be losing your virginity and suddenly finding yourself in a "new world," but it occurred to me that this effect is a much more frequent experience in our lives.

Think back to your childhood.  Way back...

After you said your first word, chances are, you quickly began to accumulate more words.  And the world looked different because you could finally, verbally express yourself.

When you took your first steps, you soon began to run.  And the world looked different because you suddenly realized you could go anywhere you wanted (as long as you were fast enough and the grown-ups couldn't catch you)!

The first day of school.  Now you have friends that are with you every day.  And the world looks different.

The day you turn 10.  Double digits!  13... Now you're officially a teenager!  18... Now you're an adult!  And the world, many times over, looks different.

Your first solo drive as a newly licensed driver.  Your first day of college.  Your college graduation.  Maybe your first grown-up job.  Your first significant relationship... the world looks different.

Recently, when my mom passed away, I noticed that once again, the world looked different.  There are things I am still learning to navigate without my mom around to help me.  There are still things I notice that make me sad she's not here.  The season premiere of Supernatural brought back a lot of her favorite characters, and she wasn't there to watch it with me.  This fall marks the 100th anniversary of Mallomars, her all time favorite seasonal cookie.  Even the Raiders are starting to suck less this football season, which I have to believe is somehow attributed to her.  I don't know what the world is like without my mom in it... and so it looks different.

And then, leaving little time to adjust to a mom-free world, I am now living with my boyfriend as of two days ago.  After selling our house and having only a month to vacate with no place to go, my dad and I found temporary crash pads... mine will just become slightly more permanent.  I can tell you with certainty, that my boyfriend has the best roommates in the world.  I fully expected to be living out of a suitcase, since the plan was for the four of us to move into a bigger place when I became financially capable.  Even though I moved in a little sooner than expected, the boys rearranged some of their things and made room for me, and most of my stuff.  True, there is plenty in storage, some of which may not come out until FAB and I have a place to ourselves, but I never thought I'd have my dresser, all of my shoes, my bathroom stuff, and many other things on the long list of probably-unnecessary-stuff-that-every-girl-needs.  I was at work the day after we'd moved me in, and suddenly thought to myself "I live with my boyfriend.  What?  That's weird..."

And y'know what?  The world looks different.

Room for all the things!

The World Keeps Turning...

WARNING: THIS POST IS MORBID, SAD, AND LONG.  HANG ON TIGHT, OR RUN AWAY NOW.

Hi. If you have seen FRIENDS, this is a classic Ross-ism, and it totally encompasses how I am feeling right now.  Instead of going into some long-winded list of excuses why I have basically ignored this blog for the better part of a year, let me just tell you that this year has not been an easy one and my life has basically exploded in every possible direction that it can.

Two weeks ago (yesterday), my mother passed away.  This was both quick, and unexpected.  She wasn't sick with a terminal ailment, and she definitely did NOT commit suicide.  I don't actually even have a cause of death.  She was awake in the morning, and then... she wasn't.  With everything that has been going on in our lives this year, it feels as though it was just too much for her to take, and so... she just left.  The entire experience was perhaps one of the most (if not THE most) traumatic of my lifetime.  I woke up that morning to go babysit for M's boys (potentially to be heretofore referred to as "the M&Ms"), walked into my parents' bedroom to wave goodbye to my then awake and alert mom, and when I returned only two hours later, I was watching fire trucks pull up to my house, and a team of men run through the door.  Needless to say, I parked as quickly as I could, and booked it into my house.  I watched as the men pulled my unconscious mother out of the bedroom and onto the empty dining room floor.  I watched them try several different techniques to revive her.  And, heart racing, I watched as my mother slipped away from me forever.

What has transpired over the last two weeks has been some of the most emotional (for lack of a better word) weirdness I have ever come to know.

For starters, there is no way to know when I will start crying.  Or what kind of cry it will be.  Sometimes it's a quiet stream of tears running down my face.  Sometimes it's an explosion of hard crying that lasts for a brief few minutes.  It's incredibly inconsistent and impossible to time, though I do notice that it happens more frequently in the evening, which is not surprising.  I even had a panic attack the other night, when it suddenly hit me all over again that my mother was no longer a part of my future.  FAB handled it beautifully, as I can only imagine what it's like to have your girlfriend of almost two years look into your eyes, confused and terrified, and kind of like she doesn't know who you are.

Then, there are the questions.  Weird questions.  The strangest shit pops into my mind.  Does she know she died?  Did she know when it was happening, or did she just fall asleep and not wake up?  Did she dream about it?  Can she (her spirit) see me?  If she can see me, does she feel bad for what I'm going through, or what I had to watch?  If so, does it make her cry?  I have this, awful, denial-based feeling that she'll walk through the door, tears in her eyes, and come hold me and say "I'm so sorry you had to see that, it must have been terrible."  I'm fully aware that she isn't coming back... and yet, I wait for her, like she's on some extended vacation.

There's numbness.  A lot of numbness.  People talk, and offer condolences, and hugs, and all I see is their mouths moving.  I can't focus on almost anything - work, school, life in general - and I sometimes get the impression that I probably shouldn't be driving.  Sometimes, I don't want to even be touched.  It's a wonderful thing that so many people care enough about me to offer a tender embrace, but at times it gets downright claustrophobic, and it serves as more of a reminder that my mom is no longer with me than a symbol of care and concern.  And there's always the constant, nagging stream in the back of my mind, circling like a mantra in reverse - "my mom is dead, my mom is dead, my mom is dead."  People can talk about damn near anything, and in my mind, all I can think is "that's nice, my mom is dead," "oh, you had a bad day?  I don't have a mom anymore."  I don't want to throw myself a pity party, but I almost can't help it.

The strangest things will set off the waterworks.  Only a few days after she passed, I heard two Marvin Gaye songs, and one Stevie Wonder song on the radio, and I was convinced it was her doing.  I found myself crying.  The Beach Boys "All Summer Long."  She had this ridiculous way of singing along with it that I'll never forget.  Tears.  I don't even want to know what will happen if I listen to a recording of the infamous Muppet song "Manamana."  It might be the only time that song has ever made anyone cry.  Even remembering her reaction when I told her M wanted to take me (with FAB) on her trip to Paris.  She was so excited, she let out a scream like someone was trying to murder her.  Also... all the things she did that used to annoy me, I now miss.  I never thought I would miss her coming into my room when I had friends over to make a little conversation... and now I have one of her dresses (it happens to be my favorite) hanging on my bedroom door because it's almost like she's standing there.

I can't stop thinking of all the milestones she'll miss in my life.  She'll never see me get married.  She'll never hand-jive with her grandchildren.  She'll never even see me become a teacher.  And it extends further.  She won't watch me and FAB be on-camera diners on a Gordon Ramsay show.  She didn't see the absolute, unabashed joy on my face for the 110 seconds that *NSYNC reunited on the VMAs (a moment so powerful to me that for those few precious moments, my mom wasn't dead).  She won't get to see the Marvin Gaye movie with Jesse L. Martin (which she TOTALLY called way before it was even being discussed).  Hell, she didn't even make it to football season this year, and the house is so quiet without her passionate screaming for the Raiders, it's disturbing.

The hardest part of all of this is that the world doesn't stop, even for a tragedy like this one.  I took two weeks off of work, but I had to go back today because I can't just stop getting paid.  I still have to go to school (especially since it's the last two weeks of the quarter) two nights a week.  I still have to help my dad trash, donate, and pack up 30 years worth of stuff in the only home I've ever known so we can move out and prepare to sell it.  Let me tell you, having to get rid of my mom's stuff so soon after she passed was no picnic.  It almost feels like I don't have time to grieve.

My mom was an energy.  Every single person who ever knew her has said that in some way.  She was vivacious, and bright, and loud, and funny, and emotional, and unapologetically herself.  I have her smile.  I can hear her voice in mine.  It's because of her that I can spell, dance, and cook.  She taught me how to talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere.  She proofread my papers.  She got stains out of my clothes.  She taught me to appreciate the music of Motown.  She loved my boyfriend like a son before she even met him.  She is the reason for the namesake of this very blog.

My mom made a bigger impact on my life than she will ever know.  I only wish I could have told her.  One last hug.  One last "I love you."

I love you mom, and I will miss you, every day for the rest of my life.

My First Birthday

Meeting FAB's Parents

Redemption

Don't ask me why it took this long to write about this.  In all honesty, when you read this, you'll probably wonder how I managed to go even 30 seconds without telling the world.

As a brief update on me:  I'm officially starting work as a Teacher's Aide/Playground Supervisor at a school where I've been volunteering.  One of the pre-recs for most teacher credential programs is field experience, so I re-connected with my second grade teacher who teaches kindergarten at a school nearby.  They like me so much that they offered me a position!  I will be leaving my other job, which will also bring peace of mind.  Hooray!

ANYWAY!

Two weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend a 90's throwback party hosted by Svedka Vodka with FAB's boss.  She had originally invited him to go with her, but when he told her he had a softball game that evening, she invited me to go in his place.  I borrowed a dress from my awesome cousin, and prepared to enjoy the night.  I was not expecting THIS:

No.  It's not photoshopped.

*Note:  FAB's boss will now be shortened to the much simpler "M."  It's anonymous enough and it's a little James Bond-y. Win.


Okay.  Admittedly, I had hoped that something like this would happen.  I had only learned that it was a 90s party the day before.  That put a spark in my head because I know from his Facebook page (we're Facebook friends, what?) that he hits a lot of these Hollywood parties.  How could he NOT want to show up for a 90s party.  Especially one about the "Heartthrobs and Heartbreakers" of the 90s.  When I walked in with "M" (who I think I can actually call a friend now) there was a large cork board immediately to our right.  It was plastered with images of said heartthrobs and heartbreakers.  When M went to take a photo with her 90s image I had noticed two pictures of Lance on the board without the rest of the group.  There was one of all of them, but even the other four (including Mr. Timberlake) were not represented separately.  That was a pretty big clue, but with such a large party, there was no telling if I'd actually lay eyes on the  beautiful hunk of gay man meat.  Yeah.  I went there.  Judge me.

I never, in a million years expected him to sit down at the table next to ours.  I pretty much fangirled all over myself, becoming instantly giggly, nervous, shaky, and unfortunately also flushed.  I was mostly discreet about it, but it was really hard not to stare.  I had been sitting with M, and another cast member of her 90s program, and a few of her friends.  She left just before I did, claiming I could stay if I wanted.  I stayed just long enough for one of her friends to ask for the picture and snap it, and then beelined to meet FAB at the bar with his buddies after the game.  The whole ordeal was mostly embarrassing, having to have someone else do the asking, but I did manage to say "hi" and a few (probably overly gracious) "thank yous" without any kind of trouble.  As you know, this was not the way it went when we last met...

He looks way less enthused here...

"I'ove you.  Ca'I've a hug?" *Photo Credit: Ashley

It was far too loud for me to recount our previous meeting where I utterly humiliated myself, but he did say it was really nice to meet me.  The moment is kind of blurry for me now, it all happened so fast, but it was really nice to redeem myself at least a little bit.  That said, I was having an awesome time with M even before I noticed my gay prince had arrived.  Other celebrity sitings include Ashley Simpson, Richard Belding, Joey Lawrence, and a mess of other faces I recognized but couldn't put a name to.  A fantastic evening, overall.

Yay life!