Tag Archives: Humor

Perception is Everything

15 Jul

 

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Perception: defined as a way of regarding, understanding, or interpreting something; a mental impression.
No matter how we perceive things, they say the that the world doesn’t revolve around us. Truthfully, I’m still over here trying to figure out who the hell “they” are. Sometimes, I’d like to take “them” out back and beat ’em for the ridiculous things “they” say.  However for every 20 pieces of utter garbage that “they” spit out, this is the one true statement.  I think we all caught up in it every now and again.  So it’s a valid reminder, sometimes, for us to get our head out of our asses and realize that maybe some things have nothing to do with us.

Yes, even a perfect saint  (insert eye roll here) like me gets caught up in being the center of the universe…and when I realize I’m doing it, I loathe myself for a bit.

So, let me remind you of some times that you may have thought it was all about you…but it’s really not. You’re just not that cool, peeps…and quite frankly neither am I.

When that person treated you like garbage. It’s really not about you. People who tear down and hurt you… it’s about them.  It’s about how they feel about themselves.  So when someone is ugly and treating you that way, try and remember that it’s because they’re feeling pretty ugly inside. Shit, they may actually just be that damn ugly on the inside. You just have to feel sad for them.  Yep, I know just how shitty some people can make you feel, but try and let it roll off your back. (If you figure out the secret to this, call me….k????)  The world may not revolve around  you, and the asshole induced feelings may mess with your mojo, but dig deep for the kind spirit that’s inside. If that doesn’t work, kick ’em in the shin (just don’t tell  anyone I said to).

When the closest people in your life are going through something. Take a deep breath and repeat these words… “It’s not all about me!”  And probably, mostly, it’s not. Sometimes the people in our lives can just focus on what they can. Sometimes life sucks for them…not just you. Feeling ignored? Hey genius, maybe they don’t multitask the way you do. Stop getting your panties in a wad. You’re just going to have to be patient. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you or care, it means they are doing the best they can. You can offer your support, your love, and your understanding. Don’t be a pain in the ass. I’m also bad at this. You’re not the only one who mucks everything up. But the beauty of true friendships and special connections are, they always remain. If not, then it wasn’t special or true to begin with. So…be accepting, and giving and patient.

How about the person who thinks everything is their fault. Hey, Pisano….even you are not the center of the universe. Nope…not EVERYTHING is your fault.  Stop apologizing for being the reason why there are earthquakes and floods. It’s not about you. Take responsibility for being a douche canoe and be done with it. You did not ruin every person’s life on the planet. Stop apologizing.

Listen…perceptions is everything.  The glass is not half empty, it’s half full…of tequila.  Just stop the madness,  take the shot already. The best part of that, you can refill the glass. Hug it out, stop apologizing for breathing and work on some positives.

On the other hand…whether you’re the asshole, the distant person, the person who’s sorry for breathing.  You are seen…someone values you (yes, even you, asshole), someone worries about you and loves you. While they are deep  breathing, you deep breathe too, and take it in. In today’s world, I promise that life is always going to suck sometimes. True friendship and connections seem to be father and fewer and things will always be busy. A little effort will always go a long way. It’s all in what you make of it. So value the asshole who values you, even in their full pain in the ass glory.

And really I’m not telling you what the hell to do. I only know what works for me…and even that could be a total crock. So, maybe this resonates, maybe not.

Either way I’m still over here, cheering y’all on. Doesn’t my cheerleadering get up look amazing? Those legs are sexy as hell, right? See, I told you…perception is everything.

Until next time,

DP Babbles

and remember

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Irish for a Day

15 Mar

 

A couple of years ago, the hubs started learning how to play the bag pipes. At the time he started, the vision of kilts, kilt checks and my son running around in his underwear attempting to play on his dad’s precious practice chanter were not at all a reality or something I thought could be a reality. Nor did I realize what being a “member of the band” would be around St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been a parade kind of couple of weeks and I’m excited to see him blowing like a champ!  (Yep, I went there!)

So my experience at this weekend’s local St. Patrick’s Day parade was my first ever.  I’m Italian (Nutalian as my son puts it) and I’m not a big parade person. I had no idea what was in store for me while trying to support the man of the house.

The kids were so excited to see their Dad in action. Little did I know that “in action” meant chicks stopping him left and right for picture within the first 10 minutes. And you know what else it meant. Lots of drunk people.

We finally left our celebrity to line up and wait for his big entrance. The parade was all sorts of amazing. Beaded necklaces, “gold” coins and candy flying everywhere.  We got to see him up first which was fun. In the spirit of how reserved he is the following text convo ensued between me and a friend:

Me: I should totally follow up his fanfare by flicking some panties on his bag pipes. He’d die, I’m sure. Lol

Her: I dare you!

Me: I so wish I had some handy. Damn it!!!!

So now I’m regretting not thinking of this idea earlier at home when I could have stuffed a pair in my pocket. But I’m also surrounded by a bunch of adults who act like they’ve never seen beaded necklaces or candy.  I’m telling you these people were diving for necklaces. This shit was cut throat. They didn’t even seem that drunk.  Some dude actually tried to fight my son for a necklace. And there were plenty to go around so….he needed a beating. I was sure that if there weren’t children around people were going to start showing their goods for it. Next text:

Hubs: Ok I’m done and we’ll be in front of the bar.

Me: I really want to be in front of the bar. The bead diving here is getting ridiculous. I’m sure Jax is going to get to see some boob shots soon. Not too shabby for 6?

So we did catch the mother load in terms of beads. The kids were happy. I looked like I worked really hard to get those beads, and I didn’t even have to put “the girls” to work. Although I may have “slightly” elbowed the dick who fought my son for a beaded necklace. It was the same dude who caught 6 beer coozies at once and stuffed them all into his back pocket like a crazy person. I had no idea it was about to get crazier!

The plan afterward was that the band was to play at this bar. My daughter was already showing signs of her hangry and my son…he’s just ready to be social. All of a sudden the crowd around the bar didn’t feel so breathable.  I started talking to one of the band mates. We were talking (or yelling loudly in each other’s ears) about kilt checks and whether my husband wore drawers underneath. So I just looked at him wide eyed…

Me: It can’t be true that you are all walking around here free ballin’ it.

Him: really?  Check it out…(lifts kilt and bares it all…)

Me: Well then. I feel fully initiated into the club. 😳

By now my daughter is done with the drunk people. The boy wants to dance a jig of some sort but there’s no room. As the hubs line up to play, I run to get pizza to stuff into my hungry 10 year old’s mouth…but she starts to cry. Cause there’s no where to eat and she’s tired and hot and hungry and there’s sweaty drunk people around her. So one hysterical kid, a crazed dancing son and a tired mom holding a pizza box in the middle of the a drunk crowd. Before you know it one drunk chick is trying to comfort her and the other one lifts Jax up and starts dancing and pointing screaming “look at yer daddy! He’s over there!” And of course she’s pointing to the wrong guy. Didn’t matter because Jax was having the time of his life with this brand new cleavage he had acquired. My daughter’s now sobbing in the middle of a bazillion bagpipe  players and I stand there like an asshole holding up a pizza box praying for Calgon to take me away.  And let me just tell you being an Italian holding up a f*cking pizza box in the middle of an Irish festival…not popular. It was quite the scene.  I felt bad. I totally didn’t see my husband even play…but he knew we were there somewhere.

We were officially done. At least I was. My daughter was. Jax was ready to party all night long.  I didn’t know I’d have to pack a shank in my panties in order to go to a parade for crying out loud! But after all was said and done, the kids did admit they had a good time, I was proud, and he was happy.  And no one died!

Funny thing is, I loathed the bagpipes before. They were a symbol of sadness and only had I heard them at Police Officers’ funerals. But today, holding a crying ten year old, and a pizza box…I changed my mind. (Shhhhh… Don’t tell him I said that!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles

 

8 Weeks to a better ass…or something like that

8 Mar

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So, every January  for the past three years, I have embarked on an 8 week fitness challenge with my bootcamp.  Every year I had learned something different.  The first year I learned (after placing second) that I actually could work some magic when I put it all together.  I was very into running and my body wasn’t saying screw you to running just yet so my results were pretty amazing.  Year two, I learned I was really good at wasting my money.  Because I was a lazy shit who ran  but didn’t do much else.  This year though, I learned a little more.  I figured I’d share.

The goal was to eat 80 percent clean, work out 5x per week and make weekly goals, We of course needed to log our food and our instructor looked at what we were doing.   Our weekly goals didn’t need to be weight loss oriented. As a matter of fact she encouraged other goals.  A few weeks into it I lost my running coach so I was faced with having to change it up.   This is what I learned…

  1.  I learned I’m one unorganized shit! I mean my weekly goals consisted of cleaning out my closet, pantry, bathroom etc.  My husband still can’t find where I put my panties when he folds the laundry but they are organized!!! “Where’d you put your underwear? You organize things and I’m so lost. ”  “In the little drawers in my closet!” UGH! So, I learned that the more organized I am, the more successful I am.  I also learned that I have a “Bra-blem” At least that’s what my kids call one drawer devoted to bras.  I digress.  I’m a little more organized than when I started and it has made a big difference.
  2. I learned that although I want to be a better runner, I really want to be more fit first.  My personal observation and those close around me is that my body is used to running, and running slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.  That’s what my body knows. In that I also learned that maybe in order to be more successful at one thing, I have to get better at others. So  I’m working on building muscles. Lifting weights, resistance bands, squatting like its nobody’s business.  I guess if we all want to monitor my progress, just keep an eye on my “ass”ets.  I miss my running coach, but Im still going to make her proud.  I just have to make me proud first.  I haven’t felt proud in a while.  But holy shit, the next few weeks are shaping up in my favor.  I also learned that I can work around my injury and that I’ve been babying it a little.  That could be total bullshit of course.  Maybe my foot is just healing.
  3. This is the biggest thing I learned.  I learned that emotional eating gets me no where except disappointed.   Before this eight weeks, if anything bothered me, I could totally eat my way through a bag of Doritos and a Snickers bar.  This eight weeks, I was placed in stressful situations and holy sweet baby Jesus,  I didn’t turn to food.  Shit, I didn’t even think about it.  I actually used working out as an outlet.  I kicked ass at kickboxing or dropped and did push ups.  I know this all sounds like bulls*t, but its true.  I thought it was weird too.  I’ve lived my whole life as an emotional eater.  I used to sit through Weight Watcher meetings where the Lecturer actually had conversation with her food.  I don’t really want to spend time being emotionally attached to chicken nuggets or ice cream.  I don’t want to talk to them either.  I’d rather make a healthier choice and sit here and talk to people that matter to me, not my food.
  4. I learned I’m never going to be an itty bitty teeny weeny in that little polka dot bikini.  I learned that it’s ok.  I learned that the real people in life actually think I’m a hip and happening chick no matter what.  I’ve learned what a real definition of sexy is to me.  Sexy is being beautiful with all of your imperfections.  Sexy is putting real effort into being strong.  Sexy is loving yourself and being confident.  Guys and Girls, I tell you.  Not loving yourself and not being confident is actually not very attractive.  So own your thighs,  your big or small boobs. Own all of it.  Yep, you’re allowed to have moments, but don’t dwell on them.  Just keep groovin’! Changes happen when we believe and think positively.
  5.   I learned that I was starving myself.  I got sick halfway through and could barely eat, but when life resumed, I still couldn’t get all my calories in.  The numbers on the scale didn’t budge and they haven’t since. Working out 4-5 days a week with some of them being double workout days is tiring…especially if you aren’t eating.  It’s mind boggling thinking you can’t actually starve your way to weight loss. You really do have to eat.  I severely underestimated the calories I was supposed to be eating and the scale suffered.  But I’ve got the idea now.  I want to know how eating 1900 calories a day is going to help a sista out. But I’m going to trust the process.  I actually believe it’s true, but I’ve been sabotaging myself for months now.  So, now I sit and wait. Really I’m not sitting, that hurts too much right now.  I know I’m done starving myself.  Amazing how easy it is to put away 2000 calories of wine but yet I’m over here dying cause I’m stuffed full of grilled chicken and brussel sprouts.

These things I learned are not a one size fits all lesson.  Things are different for everyone unless they are the facts.

The facts are that you can’t eat shit tons of crap food and be healthy.  There are people who can eat shit tons of food and still maintain their figure but that doesn’t mean they are healthy.  The fact is that muscle burns fat, and I don’t have enough.  The fact is broccoli is always healthier than french fries and cheesecake…but we all know what tastes better!

The fact is that being fit and healthy is never going to be an easy endeavor for me.  And it may not be for some of you either, but I promise  that if we keep working and we don’t give up, good things are going to happen.  Change it up.  Do something that scares you, but that   makes you realize how badass you are.  I mean, for reals…as I was heaving over the Orange Theory potty this morning after 6 out of 10 all outs.  I was scared…but I was feeling pretty damn bad ass when I went back in for more.  There’s no giving up bitches, just puke and keep moving.  (At least that’s what I’m telling myself!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles (and squats like a badass too!)

 

Getting Comfortable Outside of Your Comfort Zone…

13 Dec

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It’s been over a month since I’ve run more than one mile.  One month of ants in my pants and one month of a foot injury that has made doing what I love impossible.

I went to the foot doctor and he did say I could run. But that I have to start at square one again. And cross training. Lots of swimming.

Well, you wanna know what I do worse than running…swimming.  After a coach phone session, I agreed to give swimming a whirl.  Swimming is going to make me a better runner after all. My first day at the aquatic center and I wanted to go crawl back in my hole. The pool felt huge, and it was more crowded than I wanted it to be. And there were men in Speedos and chicks sporting their athletic swim suits.  I’m not there yet.  I’ve got goggles… and the wrong swim cap and my trusty Victoria Secret swimsuit on.  We have to start somewhere. This is all I kept saying to myself as I stared at the water.

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So I took the plunge. Panic attack and all. And I lived.  I watched the runner next to me glide effortlessly through her laps while I stopped and sputtered and prayed the life guard wouldn’t have to rescue me. Aaaaannnndddd I lived. It took me thirty minutes and I didn’t even get a mile done. So now I’m fucking determined to get better. But first, be better prepared. Don’t say yes to meeting your husband to lunch when your soaked. “Donna, do you have pants on?” “Hold up, I wasn’t prepared for lunch. I wasn’t naked but I can’t get my running pants on wet!” “Jesus…you’ve been driving around without pants!!!” “It’s a bathing suit bottom…and I’m wrapped in a towel, dummy. Calm down!” Do you know what he should have worried about? Going to lunch with Mrs. Soggy Tits McGee over here. That’s right, I took a bathroom selfie of it.  I’m not even ashamed!!!! You know you giggled.

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So during lunch I made sure I told him my plan. I have to get better at swimming, too. My plan…the way everyone learns these days. Straight to YouTube, baby!!! And that’s what I did.  I watched dudes in itty bitty bottoms tell me how to kick and breathe and turn my body.  And I sat there mesmerized, mostly by the itty bitty bottoms and chiseled abs…but also by the skill.   Skill…yep, it was skill. (They weren’t that cute anyways!)

So I decided to give it a go at my community pool.  Today’s adventure was to try and master some of this without drowning or making an ass out of myself. And what really happened?  At least I didn’t drown.  I was full on making an ass out of myself in front of two ladies who didn’t speak English. Fucking great. They are going to make fun of me and I can’t even laugh at their jokes. So they sat there talking and eating apples while I gave it my all. By giving it my all, I mean realizing when I turn my head to breath, my damn head is still in the water. And that I can kick like the dickens.  But the ground breaking moment was when my head hit the wall because I’m so directionaly and spatially (is that even a word?) challenged. Oh, where the hell is the rock I want to crawl under. I wish I spoke French right now…I don’t really need to because the giggles from the sidelines say everything.  Fuck it…I’m just going to keep on swimming. Literally and metaphorically! So 31 minutes later, I had a measly mile done. I’m going to watch more videos and try again today. I’m going to make swimming and running my bitch…once I get rid of this headache.

Today’s lesson. Make being uncomfortable your new comfort zone, even if you suck at it!  And never stop trying. Sometimes your breakthrough happens just before you’re ready to throw in the towel.  Screw it.  If I’m going to look stupid,  I’m going to do it big and make sure you laugh while you watch me do it!  And even if I’m dying inside, you may not know…I’m still over here fakin’ it til I make it. You can do the same and make it look amazing!!!  No quitting allowed. Call me if you’re ready to quit. I’m not going to let you.

Until Next Time,

DP Babbles (with a lump on her head) lol

 

 

 

You do WHAAATTT????

28 Oct

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Intimacy and anything that includes talk about the bedroom are very taboo subjects to some.  Sex is only spoken about in whispers and late night conversations for those who tend to be uncomfortable muttering those  private words. While what happens behind closed doors is private for some, for others open conversation is a helpful tool in spicing things up during private time.

Enters me,  the dirty mouthed, proud queen of the 3am nursing convos. Where most nothing is off limits and sex could be an open subject. Let’s just say all of us know each other well.  So when the opportunity to join Pure Romance came along I jumped at the chance. And of course all of my nursing pals seemed to agree that this was the perfect second job for me. What is Pure Romance and what do I do?

Enter the quietest chick in the room who scarily asks, “You do THOSE parties?” “You sell sex toys and orgasm creams?”  At first it was quite hard for me to talk about. Me…queen of 3am dirty talk, whaaaat?  All of a sudden I saw people picturing me all leather clad with spiked heals and cracking whips and floggers at parties.  Some thought orgies even happened there. What kind of chick do you all think I am?  I don’t whip anyone at “those parties”. If you need a beating,  I won’t be showing up with my whip and Come F*ck Me Pumps.  But I do giggle at the thought of it.  Holy shit when I show up fully dressed wearing my best smile…and yes I do wear heels sometimes.

Harder than overcoming that was telling my parents. First I broke the news to my sister. She not as loud about sex as I am. (That’s not what I meant, ya sicko) She’s just more reserved than I am.  And with good reason. I don’t think my parents could have handled two of me.  My sister would ask when I was going to break the news to them.  I started slowly with my mom.

Me:”Um, Mom, I started doing something for extra money.”

Mom: “Shit, Donna, you’re a stripper, aren’t you?”

Me: “Not quite…I’m always fully clothed.”

Mom: “You’re selling dildoes or something?”

Me: ” Yeah, but I can’t tell Daddy, he’ll be pissed.

Mom: “I’ll tell your father, don’t worry about it.”

So typical of my mom to not even bat an eye over it.  My dad’s reaction was quiet at first,  now he asks after every party if I actually sold the sex swing.  I find this hilarious. “Yeah, Dad…I sold the swing. It was a hit.  I’m great with the demo. (Dad cringes) Want to stop talking about it now, do ya?” Poor Dad… I’m the official reason why there were no more. That mouth of mine is always getting me in trouble.

So what are one of those parties really like?   It’s a kick ass party where ladies get together and  relax, have a glass of wine and be entertained by yours truly. I’ve heard I’m quite funny at times. It’s not all about the toys, either.   It’s about empowering each other to learn about what works and what doesn’t.  I want to empower you to know what you like and not be afraid to say it out loud. (Don’t get the air horn and announce it at the mall, announce it to your partner for cryin’ out loud!) And I want you to know there’s strength in being an awesome chick who is confident, which also creates a stronger bond between couples. But I’m going to do it in a way that’s hilarious at times, and you’re going to learn a little diddy or two as well.

I bet you’re wondering why I’m all of a sudden announcing this after over a year of parties full of lotions and potions and vibrating fun.  I simply didn’t feel like talking about the marathon for the moment.  Sex toy talk sounded more fun and sex is supposed to be fun!!!!

So I’m challenging you to hit me up and party with me. I mean it’s free for Jake’s sake.  I’ve got jokes for days… oh and my swing demo…. uhhhhh-mazing!

Until next time,

DP Babbles

http://www.pureromance.com/donnapatton

Things I wish I could say to My Kids Some Days

19 Sep

img_2587First things first…there are rules for this blog post.  Do not read any further if you are one of the following:

  1. A Judgey Judge-erton
  2. Someone with no sense of humor
  3. Someone who is against bad words
  4. Anyone without kids who think they can do a better job
  5. Anyone who is a total asshole, assholes need not apply here

Ok, now that we have that cleared up.

I was raised in a house where mouths run free. My mom said what she wanted and we were not to repeat bad words.  But now I’m an adult… and I have to say I try to watch my mouth. These are some of the recent happenings in my house and what I really wanted to say…

My daughter is 9 and pretty damn sassy. Not many know this because she’s shy around others but sometimes I really do get the urge to slap that pretty little mouth to Mars.  I enjoy a drink or two.  I don’t drink myself into a coma every night…or ever (at least since the last time before kids). The other day we were looking for restaurant options while riding  in the car and I looked over and suggested a pizza place that just so happened to have an outdoor bar. So Rae McSassypants says “Mother (she calls me that when she wants to be a total shit), we know you only want that pizza place because of the bar.”  so deep breath… Reagan, having a drink at dinner or occasionally going out with my friends for a drink does not mean I’m choosing restaurants because of the bar. A little respect with that mouth…please.” You know what I really wanted to say?

“Are you kidding me? I drink because you little shits make me crazy sometimes! And because I have to tell you 10 fucking times to brush your teeth at night, which I shouldn’t even have to do at your age.  I drink because sometimes you whine and it grates on my nerves like nails on a chalk board. And you just fucking called me Mother.  You get allowance and minor chores. Why the hell are you calling me Mother?  Do I look like Joan Crawford to you? Sometimes, I just need to decompress because you make me feel like the worst mother ever. So excuse my french if I need a glass of wine.”

The other day I took something away from my son.  He looked at me and said with the most contempt I’ve ever seen in his eyes. “You are the worst mom, ever!”  So like a good mom, I just walked away. But what did I really want to say?

“Well, I sure as shit don’t like you some days, either.  Parenting is hard as hell and when you tell me I’m the worst mom ever, I really just want to tell you to go find a better one. But you won’t find a better one because even though there’s a lot of Facebook perfection out there, none of us are perfect. We all suck sometimes.”  I heard him talking to his sister and she asked him why he said it. He told her he didn’t mean it and that he loves me so much.  This morning he snuck into my room crawled on top of me, kissed my forehead and whispered over and over that he loved me so much.  My little man, he sure knows how to make up for his mouth.

We read a book about the birth of Jesus Christ the other day before bed. Randomly my son starts a dialogue: Him: Boys have Penises and girls have bah-ginas. Me: Thank you, Kindergarten Cop, now go to bed.  Him: Do you thank God for your Bah-gina cause you should.  Me: I’ll thank him later, go to bed. What did I really want to say?

“No, I can’t actually say I thanked God for my vagina today, or ever.  I thank him for lots of things but not for the thing that makes my life a pain in the ass for a week a month.  You try to thank Him for the bleeding, bloating and craving shitty food. Thank him for my shitty attitude,  and the ability to go from 0-60 in a single bound when you piss me off during Aunt Flow’s visit.   And for the 5 pound weight gain, let’s not forget about that. So, no, I don’t think I’ve recently thanked anyone for my vagina.   But, I promise as a dude one day you will be thanking God for vaginas.  You don’t even know how many times you will thank him. So lets not boss me around for what I’m going to be thankful for.

Hold on to your rockers for the last one…

Two days ago my six year old son decided to stick his iPod into the toilet and take a picture of his asshole. He tattled on himself to his father who came flying into the bedroom to show me the picture.  I was about to lose my shit laughing when he came around the corner and I had pull it together for an educational moment. Me:  J, why would you take a picture of your tush? Him: I thought it would be funny but now I know its not so funny after all. Me: Firstly, no more taking pictures of any private parts anymore. Secondly, iPods don’t belong in the bathroom, especially not in the toilet.  Lastly, please go flush the toilet and wash your hands. What did I really want to say?

Why…why in the fuck would you take a picture of your asshole!!!  That’s disgusting.!!! And if you lost your iPod in the shitty water, I would have kicked your ass and you wouldn’t get another electronic device until you got a job and paid for it yourself. But really, lets talk about your mad skills buddy. You stuck your iPod INTO the toilet and got an asshole pic without ruining it.  As disgusting as that is. Props and high fives for your agility and skills. I can see it now: The New York Times Photograph of the Year goes to JP for “The Bunghole in the Abyss”. You can have a whole gallery of asshole photos to sell when he’s older. Crowds of people would fill his gallery and look at his pics sideways trying to find the meaning of the picture. Me, his proud mama, would be gleaming there.  That’s my son’s asshole!

I’m speechless as to why he thought this was a good idea, but he did. The next day it was brought up and he admitted that he just wanted to see what it looked like.  And then I realized.  The dude was was exploring his bod. He’s never seen an asshole before.(I have seen plenty, literally and figuratively).  He was just looking for a little information real time. You can’t say the boy isn’t resourceful. Back in the day we used mirrors to explore.  He could actually  take a picture of it and zoom in.  I should have just slapped him on the ass and said, go to it buddy. Go check it all out, punkin.  And make sure that shit is sparkly clean. And no posting. No one else wants to see your asshole.

You see, we live in this Facebook perfect and pretty world where some of our kids are perfect and everything is sunshine and roses, losing weight is easy and we never get mad. FUCK THAT!!!  I can’t sugar coat that. My life is a big fat mess. Most days I wonder whether I’m screwing up my kids. If one day these kids will be adults in therapy hating and blaming me for their life.  Somedays I look in the mirror and try and brave it though a day  I want to be curled up in bed crying. And yes somedays are amazing. My kids are angels, I wake up happy, not bloated and pimple free. Somedays, I drink wine just cause I like it. Sometimes both of my kids just want some mommy lovin’ and do whatever is asked of them. I treasure those days.  But the days I’m emotional and tear up in the car because I’m stressed are equally important. The days that I wonder how I can balance life…they are needed days. Life isn’t perfect. Our kids do screwy things. Sometimes we laugh when we shouldn’t. Sometimes we say the wrong thing. But sometimes we also get it right.  That’s the thing about balance. We can’t have all good or all bad.  But we can have all we need and be grateful.  It’s also ok to not be so grateful too, because you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect.  If you think you are…we can’t be friends. Perfect people need not apply at my door.  I want your messy, weird and amazing self…for exactly who you are.  Don’t change for me.  I love you just the way you are…

Until next time…

DP

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I could be…

29 Jun

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Disclaimer:  The point of this blog post is not because I need you all to tell me how beautiful and amazing I am, it’s just how I’ve been feeling and I think some people could relate. Not you perfect son of a beetches, though.  You perfect people need not keep reading, cause
you don’t get me…and I don’t need you to. Perfect people need not apply in my life.

Do you ever wish you were different? Maybe a little less of something or a little more of something else?  I’m not talking about picking perfect parts or wanting to look like a Kardashian or anything. (Do people still want to look like them? Blech) I’m talking sometimes do you just want to be perceived a certain way.

I know that I am known for certain things.  Especially at work. I’m known for being the nurse who will bring the vein viewer around and start IVs, dance around and sing, tell dirty jokes and start three AM talks.  I am not known for being serious and when I am, people seem to get a little nervous around me.

There is a particular patient and parent that I have recently connected with. In the mom’s worst moments I seem to have cheered her up with my dancing around and funny jokes. She even has referred to me as Donna the dancing nurse.  I honestly love her and can tell you making her smile, or any of the parents for that matter makes me happy. But it also made me wonder and doubt the other parts of me.  So the stupid schmuck in me started to think that just maybe…maybe I am an awful nurse and that I’m known more for my dancing skills (or lack there of) than my ability to be a smart nurse who knows what the hell she’s doing. I have had doctors look past me and ask another less senior nurse to verify a dose of meds in an emergent situation.  It felt horrible, because people know me as a jokester for the most part.  Let me let you in on a little secret.  Smiling and laughing, making jokes, being sarcastic and having a dirty mouth, doesn’t make me less smart. I actually realize that most of the people around me know that.  But I actually needed to remind myself of that.

All of a sudden I was wishing I was more…

Why can’t I be more serious? Why can’t I be smarter?  Why do I have to be sarcastic. Why can’t I be a better nurse. Why can’t I be a liked more?  Why…Why…why…why…   The list went on…and then turned into tears. This isn’t the part where you get all “Poor Donna” on me because fuck that shit. We all have our moments and I was having mine.  I’ll allow you yours, and you can call me, we’ll have a good cry it out session and then I’m going to tell you to put on some clean, sexy big girl (boy) panties (boxers) on and go knock shit out. I had to cry on an friend for a sec.  She made me realize some things.

I work in a sometimes sad place, where the stress is high and we all sometimes feel unappreciated.  So, what’s wrong with being DP, or Donna the Dancing Nurse? Or the one who tells dirty jokes and sings songs when I’m nervous?  Being that chick doesn’t change my ability to do chest compressions, start an IV or calculate my vasopressors. It doesn’t change that I can tell you a dose of Fentanyl or push-pull fluids in a code.  What it also doesn’t change is that I may be half unable to talk by morning and that you will laugh at me as I slur my speech before I clock out. (I crack myself up!)

What I can assure you (and myself) is that I will proudly stand by and help anyone, hug anyone, make anyone laugh.  I try to be a keeper in the supporting actress category. I am aware that there is still so much to learn and so many hills to conquer (in the hospital and out).  I also know while I’m no Einstein, I am me…and that’s not such a bad thing.

And I know for a fact we ALL have these moments. Even you jerk faces who want to act like you are all secure, smart and put together. I think it’s OK to show that you can be vulnerable sometimes.  I don’t think that makes us weak.  It makes those who take total advantage of that vulnerability absolute assholes.   I know some assholes.  But you will rarely ever see me treating them like they are assholes.  I’m a nice chick like that…mostly. I have asshole moments just like everyone else.  I don’t like to be taken advantage of. I know when I have been…even if I don’t say it out loud.

So what does this mean for the rest of the cruel world out there.  I think you should be you, even if you has some weak spots.  Show me your weak spots and know I’m your biggest fan.   F*ck those shitty people out there who don’t see you for the amazing person you are.    Being funny doesn’t mean you aren’t smart, no matter how you are treated.  And when all else fails, tell a dirty knock knock joke. Because laughter really is the best medicine.

If you need a laugh, Donna the dancing nurse will come by on her IV pole and work some magic.  But know that if you need meds or compressions…I can also help with that.

Until next time…DP