I'm Judgemental. There. I said it.

I'm just going to put it out there: I'm judgemental. Personally? As a society? I think we're afraid to admit that because it automatically somehow makes us bad people to judge others. I disagree though. I think it just makes us human, really.

We all do it.  And in some cases, we can all agree:  we can pass judgement on a murderer we read about and conclude that he who does that is not a good person. Or that those financiers who stole from innocent people in investments to pad their own pockets were wrong. In those cases, it's kinda cut and dry, right?  It's somehow fine to judge people like that and it not be a smudge on your own character for doing it.  In fact, most of your friends or family will nod and agree with you that they're not the kind of quality of people you'd want in your life.  Right?

I think it comes from that word: judge.  It has such a negative connotation to it.  Like, somehow, unless you have that law degree and sit behind a nice wooden bench, you have no right to judge people you come across. I'm a Christian and I even believe that ultimately there's only one judge at the end of time...and it ain't me, for sure. 

But we're not at the end of times yet.  And most of us don't have that degree or that nice wooden bench to sit behind.  But we are human and it's human nature. So why is it wrong to be able to voice your opinion if you think someone's doing something wrong? Is it really wrong to judge others? I don't think it's wrong to look at another human being and what they do or say and decide: no, that's not what I want in my life. Or, on the flip side, say: wow, in our conversations and my experiences with you, I'm so lucky to know you.  It works both ways after all.

So I'm judgemental.

I bring all of this up because I recently found out a dear friend of mine is stepping out with someone who is already "taken" and it's hard for me not to let that affect how I feel about her.  In kudos to her, she actually talked about it with me.  She brought it up and said she knew I would not approve (ugh! another bad connotation) but she wanted to let me know what was going on anyway.  In many ways, I wish she really, really hadn't.

Because I get it, people.  On paper? It's none of my business. She's not hurting me directly. I should have just sat there, listened like a friend should and then changed the subject if it made me uncomfortable.  Right?

No.  See, that's exactly where I think no.  First of all, if she already knew how I would feel about it and told me anyway, she put me in a position to respond.  And my response was exactly what she knew it would be, being as close as we are.  I couldn't pretend to think or feel differently; she couldn't have expected me to. And she didn't. She took my response very openly even if she disagreed with me. (I still wonder why she even told me, knowing all that.)

As in all cases of infidelity, the excuses came out:  He's unhappy with his current partner; they're more roommates than boyfriend-girlfriend anyway.  She's been lonely and hadn't felt a connection like this before! HE was the one to initiate every contact; not her!  You name it. All the things you tell yourself when you know a situation is wrong deep down but you try to bury it with those excuses so you don't have to think about it.

Now, Lord knows I haven't done everything right in my life either. I've made mistakes and look back with regret.  Is it my responsibility now to either tell my friends what I did wrong by those experiences in hope they don't do the same?  Or should I just shut my trap and let them do what they want to do?  If I choose the former, does it mean I'm judging them?  If I do the latter, does it mean I'm not being honest and a true friend?

The thing that clicked with her (and I saw it in her eyes when it did) was when she said, and I paraphrase, "but I don't see how this would affect OUR friendship. It's not like I'm doing anything to you."

Yeah.

Technically, she's right. I don't know either of the other people in her little messed up triangle. She doesn't even know his partner and their true relationship other than what he's said; she's never met her.  None of these folks are friends, family, colleagues or even acquaintances.  Nothing directly to me. She had me there.

But I had had a glass of wine or two at the time, so I told her the most obnoxious but valid analogy that came to mind at the time to challenge her comment. It shouldn't affect *our* friendship, right?   I asked her if she was truly serious with that comment and wanted my opinion.  When she nodded and was receptive of a response, I responded like this:

"Put it this way then. You and I are walking down the street together and we saw a random homeless man lying in the street.  If you decided to up and kick him in the gut right then and there for no reason at all? No, you wouldn't be doing something *to me.* But hell if that wouldn't affect our friendship and how I felt about you after seeing you do that."

Her eyes told me she understood. Even though it was the most ridiculous analogy, she got it.

Because in a case like that, we could all judge, right? If we saw a friend do something as horrible as that for no reason at all, we could easily judge them for it. Of course it would change your feelings about that friend who would.  How could it not?

Kicking a homeless man is an extreme example here, but I meant it as a point: if you know you're doing something wrong, decide to admit it to a friend, admit also that you even know you're doing wrong but still are going to do it because it's "what you need right now" and that's more important than anyone else -- innocent people who are the recipients of what you're feeling you want to do as opposed to what's right to do?  How can you expect that not to change your relationships with folks who know you're making that choice?

I know this makes me judgemental. Look, I started this saying I was, whether right or wrong. I'm certainly not saying I'm without sin; I've fucked up royally in my own past too in many different ways. I'm definitely not a better person than anyone else is out there.  But I still don't think I can see something wrong and encourage and support it if I don't feel it's right.

And if that makes me judgemental? I guess I'll just have to be okay with that and hope that some people reading this might understand it.





I

The Story of My Scout

A year and a half ago, I lost my darling little Oy. Oy was a kitten that was found in the back of the printing plant where I worked at the time. He was only 4 weeks old and the woman who was working as receptionist found him covered in oil and grease. Cleaned him up and wanted someone to adopt him.

I already had my Sammy cat at the time but as soon as I saw Oy I knew he had to come home with me.  And he did.  Had to de-worm him (twice). Fed him with a bottle even until he was able to eat food on his own.  And although they didn't get along at first (Sammy was so afraid of the kitten!), it only took weeks for them to play together, curl up and sleep together, terrorize me together at 3am for food.

Oy lived until almost 17 years old; Sammy passed about 4 years before that and having Oy helped me get through that for sure.

But after Oy passed, I wasn't ready for another fur kid.  I remember saying (and writing) I couldn't imagine a home without a pet, but I still did it for a year and a half and got used to it. Bah. None of my budget had to go for food or litter or toys or whatever. I could come and go as I wanted and not worry. I'm fine without one.  And I was. Because I was never really at home much.  I live in the city: was always out doing something or another.  It didn't matter that there was something at home waiting on me; or, rather, counting on me. It was better there wasn't!  But I still thought about it. 

Kinda.

And then my accident happened last fall. Broke my jaw; had to be wired shut for a month.  I spent weeks home, not going out. Didn't mind being home (did mind the wires!) but it made me think again: "hmmm. wouldn't it be nice to have a kitty again?" But I kind of put it out of my head too. Pets are a huge responsibility. A step up from plants (and I have one that's 20 years old, thankyouverymuch), but still a responsibility.

So I healed (still healing).  And I didn't plan to go home for Christmas this year (was just there in September for a wonderful week-long visit) but after the accident wanted to be with my Mom so I planned it.  And I went.  And her two cats, as always, were all over me. Lap kitties. Purr-buckets (tm). They would curl up on my lap or next to me on a pillow, purring their hearts out and I realized: my horrible experience this past fall might have been more tolerable had I had that. Perhaps.

I think the visit home actually solidified what I was already thinking because I made an appointment at the shelter before I even left. I kept it in the back of my mind that I could always cancel the appointment, but after the visit home, I knew I didn't want to.

So I got home after the holidays and kept the appointment. I knew I wanted a "lap cat."  I wanted a cuddle buddy: I envisioned winter nights on the couch, reading my books, with a kitty fast asleep and purring on my lap. It was time again for that.

I went to the shelter and, as planned beforehand, just decided I'd go into a room full of cats and just sit down. Just sit down and see what happened.

And what happened was this cat called Jesus (pronounced the Hispanic way "Hay-Zeus") instantly came up and crawled up on my lap. I petted him; he was sweet. But I figured: "okay, this is the FIRST cat. I gotta keep an open mind here."  So I gently pushed him off my lap and stood up and went to an adjoining room.  Sat back down again.

Hay-Zeus followed. Crawled back onto my lap again and started purring. A slew of other cats came up to me (I was sitting crossed-legged on the floor afterall) but Hay-Zeus started pawing at every other one that came over.  Not claws out; just soft paw. Almost like he was trying to say: "yeah, I know. She's cool, but she's mine. go away."

And it was sealed.

I didn't choose my fur kid; he chose me. (Kinda like you don't choose wands but wands choose you, for you Harry Potter folk. Yep. Geeking out now, I am.)

I didn't learn until after I  (he) did and we were going through the paperwork that little Hay-Zeus had actually been in the shelter for five years. Five YEARS! I can't even wrap my head around that.  That a cat who didn't have consistent human companionship would actually be such a lap kitty or would want a human companion and choose me as opposed to wanting to live still with a bunch of other cats instead.  Afterall, it's all he knew. Right?

So I brought him home that day and I'm honestly surprised at how incredibly well-adjusted he was then and still is.  In the car with me for the first time? Not a peep. Just sat there happy in his carrier like "where we goin' mama? Don't matter. I'm here now." At home? From day one he used the litter box and used scratching posts instead of my furniture. Having been in a shelter that long, he doesn't even beg for "people food."  And every evening, he curls up on my lap as I'm watching TV or reading a book; purring his heart out. And when I tell him: "okay, bedtime." He comes and curls up in bed with me.  I will always be amazed by this.  A kitty who never knew human companionship picked a woman who thought she might need might need something other than human companionship again.

Kismet?

Oh, yeah. That name Hay-Zeus wasn't happenin'.  I renamed him after much thought.

Scout.

From my favorite book.

And he actually answers to it too.

So this has been the story of Scout.

When you rescue a pet? They kinda rescue you right back.

I learned a couple weeks after his adoption (when I had to bring him back for inoculations that came with the adoption fee) that one of the volunteers actually was thinking about finally adopting him too because he was a favorite in the shelter. No one understood why no one took him before; except he wasn't a kitten. And most people want kittens, right?

The shelter has asked me repeatedly to please send updates and photos because he was so loved there and that everyone will be ecstatic to hear he finally found a forever home.  After all that time. A forever home!  And oh, that was a hard request, right? Because I NEVER post photos or update my Facebook or blog or anything. ;-)

So now he runs. And he plays. And he has not A room but five he can play in.  Folks ask me when I'm going to get a playmate for him, but I really think he doesn't want that.  He wanted a human.  He's happy and content and loved and doesn't realize that more than he needed or wanted me?

I needed him. :)

And that's the Story of My Scout.

The Song Remains the Same. Except in these Seven.

When I hear some songs for the first time I instantly hate them.  Whether the lyrics, the beat or the artist -- can't stand them. These songs I absolutely hated until I had a different association for them.  Now I love them. For these reasons:

1.) Aerosmith: "Dream On"
Not sure why I hated it; I usually like Aerosmith. But this song always grated on me until I saw one of my favorite movies ever and actually the very first movie I ever owned on DVD (and I never owned any on VHS even!). "Miracle" -- about the 1980 Olympic USA Men's hockey team. In the final credits, this song plays and the credits update us all on where those players are today.  After seeing and hearing that? I now adore this song.

2.) The Verbe: "Bittersweet Symphony"
It's annoying as all get out! But when I saw and heard it in the final scene of the "Cruel Intentions" (remake- don't even get me started on that!) where Buffy finally gets busted for her cross necklace full of cocaine? Adored it. Perfect.

3.) Dire Straits: "Walk of Life"
In all honesty, I don't like their music at all. The only thing I really liked about that whole "Money for Nothing" song was my beloved Sting singing the "I want my MTV" line in the background (mmm. mrow). So this follow-up "hit" sucked even more...until I saw the video.  Big bunch of sports highlights with people messing up royally until the last verse when they finally get it right. Apparently if you give me some sports highlights, I'll like your song.

4.) Bette Midler: "Wind Beneath My Wings"
Yawwwwwwn. Borrrrrrring.  That is, until I watched "Beaches" over and over again, cried my eyes out repeatedly and hoped -- and finally found-- friends that made me understand the song.

5.) House of Pain: "Jump Around"
Obnoxious as hell and from a no-talent group. .Unless you're a Badger fan and Camp Randall at the University of Wisconsin literally *shakes* between 3rd and 4th quarter when this fires up and everyone's jumpin'? You won't get it.  But I do now.

6.) David Bowie: "Golden Years"
I adore this man to no end, but I absolutely hated this song until "A Knight's Tale" when Heath Ledger danced to it.


7.) David Bowie: "Changes"
Seriously. People really must have overplayed David Bowie for me to hate his songs this much (I do truly adore him! Jareth! Thomas Jerome Newton!  *sigh*  Err...I digress). But at the beginning of "Breakfast Club"? Perfection.

Yours

?

This season

It was seventeen years ago this holiday season that I learned that my Dad wasn't going to get better. In fact, he was dying.

It was earlier that year, in May, that he went in to the hospital for a brain tumor surgery. It was as successful as a brain tumor surgery could be.  He got better for a while and I was both blessed and lucky to be there for him when he was working through all the complications that came afterward. We had a lot of good times together then.

But come late October that year, he took a bad turn.  And in early November we all realized it wasn't just a turn; it was a turn for the worse.  I was blessed enough to have a job at the time and was able to take advantage of the Family Leave Act; my sister was brilliant enough to be able to take time off from her college studies where it wouldn't affect her to leave school for a while.  We both met up with Mom and Dad at home and drove from Milwaukee to Rochester, Minnesota to the Mayo Clinic to figure out what could be done, if anything.

There wasn't anything.

And I think Dad knew it.

He was very, very coherent on the trip up.  Mom drove with Dad in the passenger seat and I still remember to this day joking and laughing with them both.  My sister and I were in the back seat, playing music and talking about college life (me already graduated; her, a few years off) and ribbing each other like sisters do.  I think now that Dad liked that. Because he knew something then that we didn't know at the time.

He knew he wasn't coming back with us.  Not really.  He already knew that going to the Mayo Clinic was for his family's piece of mind and not his own.  And I know now, being as coherent as he was on our 6+ hour drive there, he just loved hearing his bride of 30+ years and daughters talking, laughing, taunting and fighting with each other on and off? Made him realize that if -- IF -- things didn't work out? Yeah. We'd have each other.

So we went there. And as soon as Daddy got into his hospital bed, it was pretty much over.  My sister and I called our brothers up and over too and we visited with Dad a little, forgetting it was actually a holiday for a minute. When Mom remembered we needed to eat (who was hungry?), and then realized it was actually Thanksgiving weekend? We all spent that Thanksgiving together, 1996 -- mama, my sister and my two brothers and I -- in a cafe across the street from the hospital, stepping through snow drifts and peeling off scarves and mittens, settling into fold-out chairs and looking at make-shift decorations on the walls.  The proprietors were so so nice; they knew the only people in their restaurant across the street from the hospital on Thanksgiving didn't really WANT to be there.  They gave us free dessert even.  I'm not sure if my family even remembers that. :)  It was horrible tasting pumpkin pie, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

And Dad's death sentence was delivered the next day.  There was nothing left we could do.

For the longest time after that, I've hated this season. I found out in the "most joyous season of the year"  that my Dad had "weeks to months to live" and then he passed away not months, but weeks later.  December 12, 1996.

So for the longest time, I hated this season. It is the season of joy and love and my Savior's birth, but it was hard for me for personal reasons. I hated Christmas music, hated celebrating. Couldn't put up a Christmas tree for years because it just made me so sad. Halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas? The most thankful time of the year? I just couldn't feel it. I lost my Daddy. How is this a thankful season?! Screw you, world!

And then, it didn't get better. It just got...less bad.

I  met friends who helped me through it.  I had conversations with my Mom who made me understand that Dad would want me to think of all the good seasons we had together instead of the last one we couldn't.  I finally started listening to Christmas music again, thinking Dad would like that. I had friends who helped me realize that. I think that was Dad's doing from beyond. :)

And it took a while, but now I love the season again.  Because it's no longer the season I lost my Dad, but it almost feels like it's the time of year he's with me most.  Because when he actually did pass, that December 12, 1996, his entire family was around him, holding his hands, telling him it was OK to go and we would all take care of each other.  And we have.  And we do.

So I decorate again. I celebrate. Send cards and package up silly little gifts.  Because it's what Dad wants for me. And I rejoice in doing it and hope that I make him happy that I do.

And my hope is that I can, in my Dad's memory? Bring a little bit of joy to each of my friends now this season too. Whether it's sending a card, making a phone call, just having coffee together.  Because that's what it's all about, right? I think Dad's helping me to do this to this day. :)

Froggie

When I was in second grade, I had my first-ever surgery to remove a cyst from my wrist and for a second grader, that was really scary.  Stopping at the drugstore with momma after it,  I remember we noticed this little green stuffed frog there. It was nothing fancy or anything - it was just a simple stuffed thing: not very soft; didn't even have moveable parts; it just sat there on the shelf with the others.  But it was perfect.  And for her hurting little girl, momma could tell right away he should probably come home with us.

I LOVED that little frog.  I actually still have memories of that drugstore stop and where he was when we found him.  So he came home.  And I loved him. I carried him with me, slept with him and momma bandaged up his little wrist to match my mine. It brought me so much comfort, that silly sweet little thing.  (I'm hoping if I hunt real hard next time I'm home, I might find a photo with him. I vaguely have a vision of one somewhere.)

Fast forward many years to this month now.  Mom and I have been texting back and forth (since I'd been unable to talk) and she came across the little froggy face folks with iPhones have in their emoji.  She sent him to me asking "do remember little Froggie you had the first time you needed surgery?"  And, oh, it all came back.  And, oh, it brought tears to my eyes.  We reminisced as much as we could in text messaging about that time, my recovery, how that little frog had made me so happy and made my fear and pain seem so less.  And how I wished right then I still had that frog.  (And oh how I wish I had my Mom nearby!)

And so we fast forward once more to today.  I came home from work today to find a surprise package waiting for me from my momma.  And do you know what that wonderful amazing, beautiful woman had done?  She sent me a new frog.  :)

(I'm not ashamed to admit I'm kinda bawling my eyes out right now. In joy.)

Church

How do you define the word "church?"

Is it a building?  Does it have pews and an altar?  Perhaps stained glass images or a steeple?  Maybe a warm, big open space with folding chairs and coffee and a big stage for people who can come up and sing praise?

Or it synonymous with a faith for you?  Church means Roman Catholic, or Protestant, perhaps even found in the title of your faith, like in The Church of Latter Day Saints?

Perhaps you associate church with the people themselves. The church is your congregation, your neighbors, a fellowship instead of a structure of either physical or belief-based means.

Whether one of these meanings or another meaning entirely, the word itself can mean so many different things or many things at once.  And in this post I'm going to talk about what church means to me.

It means all of the above in certain ways to me.  When I go to church, I'm literally going to a building. When I think of church, it defines my faith, which is Christian. But most importantly, when I reflect, I find it really means my brothers and sisters there.  A family not by blood of body, but blood of humanity and common praise of belief.

I don't think of church as a particular faith.  I was raised Catholic and the fact that I don't define myself as "a Catholic" anymore does not mean I think that denomination is anything less.  I get questions sometimes as to what church I go to and the folks usually asking want to know if it's Lutheran or Baptist, perhaps Presbyterian? Which is it?

Technically, the church I attend is Methodist.  I'm not sure if I'm doing the church a service or not when I also explain rather quickly, "but it's not like a real Methodist church."  I don't know why I even say that when I do.  I'm not sure what a REAL Methodist church is even.  I've studied different religions throughout the years, starting in college and then on my own since; some are obviously very different; others too close to really tell apart sometimes. And so I guess, for me, I just don't want to be defined as a denomination. Too many people have hang ups about one denomination or another -- perhaps legitimately based on experience with one -- and so I'd much rather just say I'm Christian. And I guess I apologetically explain "it's not like a real Methodist church" just in case others might have had a bad experience in one.

When I moved to Atlanta over 15 years ago, I tried to find a church (in all the meanings above) that felt like home for me.  I tried a few of the faith in which I was raised; attended others with friends who happily brought me along.  But along the way, I found much sadness.  A preacher in a pulpit mentioning "Ellen Degenerate", for example, at about the time Ellen DeGeneres came out admitting she was lesbian.  Needless to say, I never went back there again.  I was saddened enough to worry about finding any "church" that I could feel at home in, one that was loving, Christian, accepting and open to all.  I understand that some people have different beliefs on orientation than I do, but I found it really disheartening that a person of authority in a congregation would use those kinds of words to speak about other human beings. If God is love, how are those loving words?

When I moved to Midtown a few years ago, I decided it was time to try again and the first thing I looked for was the community aspect of one. It had to be Christian for me, but then it also had to be nearby.  I wanted one I could walk to, participate in; one that was part of my physical community as well as my spiritual one and one that wouldn't be an excuse not to attend Sunday morning if I happened to be low on gas that week to get there.  ;-)  So I did what made sense: Googled my address and churches around it.  I was willing to accept that the first one I found might not be "The One" (oh gosh! I'm dating my churches?) but there was only one way to find out...and that was to start.

So two blocks west and two blocks south sat St. Mark's.  Gave it a try, assuming the next weekend I'd try the other that was four blocks south and one block east if it didn't feel right.  But to my joy, even surprise, it did.  It didn't feel perfect day one...but it spoke to me enough to go back again.  (And then again. And again.)

Was it because I was welcomed so warmly? Felt the familiarity of a church with the physical makeup of my childhood one?  Perhaps that helped.  But it was more than that when I came here.

For here, at this church, as I sat in my pew and looked around the congregation, I realized that the definition of church as a community was here.  There were families of all types -- mom and dad with kids, mom and mom with kids. Man and man without (yet! but trying!) and even single folks like me.  And, yes, it is true that St. Mark's is in a traditionally gay neighborhood of Atlanta, but it became recognizable easily and quickly that the fact that the physical church is there didn't change the meaning here.  I honestly felt that this building and this group of people could be physically lifted up and replanted anywhere and still have that same acceptance and that same sense of community no matter where it took root again.

So I went back.  And back again.  Invited friends to join me and some did.  Found out another friend of mine had been a member for years and, on checking in on Foursquare, realized another five friends have also attended too. A friend visited me from out of state and after days of playing tourist, went to worship with me and felt just as happy and accepted as a visitor as I did my first day.  So I wasn't alone in feeling this way.  This truly was a home. A family.  A building, yes.  But a true church too.

Today, the sermon/homily touched on this past week's Transgender Day of Remembrance and how if we're all one body in Christianity, all parts mean nothing less than the individual parts that make us whole.  Minister Kim started the sermon with an unnecessary apology, explaining it was meant to be not a lecture or lesson but perhaps, hopefully, an opening to further discussion on the differences in people and how the biggest gift of selflessness and love we could show is acceptance of others even if we don't understand or don't associate with them.  An insert in the church program contained a beautiful song on one side and a list of gender terminology on the other, just to educate folks if they didn't know the difference.  And, yes. Cisgender folks (people whose gender identity matches their biological gender) like myself were also listed and celebrated as well.  There was no agenda here but love.

If you are one who truly feels anything other than man + woman love is wrong?  I'm not here to change your mind.  If you don't understand how people can love someone of their own gender, associate with a gender other than the one which you were born or even feel ambiguous at all, I'm not here to change your mind on that either.  I guess I'd just hope, as my friends who are reading this, that you might change your approach to others that might not be like you if someone can touch your heart to suggest you can.  Don't use ugly words or hateful terms. Feel them if you must -- just don't put them out there.  I'm not asking you to change your beliefs; I'm asking more that you don't push your beliefs on others just as I'm not trying to push mine on you.  Deep down? Sure. I hope that folks who decide not to put it out there might eventually change their minds too on who they feel are brothers and sisters in Christ.  But baby steps. Baby steps. :)

In a song we sang today, lyrics contained  "for everyone born, a place at the table...For woman and man...for young and for old...for gay and for straight...transgender and queer...a place at the table.  And God will delight when we are creators of justice and joy, compassion and peace."

Because, honestly? Whether we're searching for a church -- be it a building, a faith or a family? Isn't that what we all want? Justice, joy, companion and peace?

May your days, my friends, be as blessed as mine was this morning. And if at any time you want to join me in my family, my church here? I would be honored to have you with me.

The Five

Right around my 40th birthday I wrote a blog of the 40 things I would tell my younger self had I the chance to in an alternate universe or one with a TARDIS.  (that can be found here: http://thedixiecheesehtml.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive) I'm kinda amazed that it's actually been two years now since then. It actually makes me smile a little for some unknown reason. Maybe because I'm still alive to write again and refer back to it. ;-)

Alas, this birthday last month is not one of those "Big Ones."  I can't do a blog of the "42 things I would tell my younger self" afterall.  Who celebrates 42 afterall?

Oh.

I grin writing that, tongue in cheek, because I am a Science Fiction geek and 42? Bring it. Bring a towel when you do, please.

I'm not going to do 42 things here because I think my 40 captured most not too long ago. That, and I'm too lazy to do 42 new things now.  So I will do the five I've learned in that time. And here they are.

1.) How you appear physically? Matters not at all.

Be healthy for you. Eat well, exercise. Whatever. But that damn size in that pair of jeans matters not. I'm surrounded by people daily who comment on who lost weight, who gained weight, who needs to do one or the other. But it's not in the gym; it's not with a personal trainer That I would understand. But it happens at work, for pete's sake.

I had a superior at work tell me the other day she noticed another colleague was losing weight. Okay. Lovely. Tell her if you think she might be complimented by it. But it's *at work*. At work, it shouldn't matter what you weigh, how you look, if you're losing or gaining or whatever.  I found it insulting in a way and actually explained to her that it doesn't matter to me one way or another what size anyone is as long as they can do their job.  And I'm actually kind of disgusted that people look at each other in a workplace that way. By the look on her face, I think she was surprised by my response. She should have been.

I told a friend this weekend this: if someone judges me because they think I might need to lose a few pounds? If I'm happy, successful, independent and caring and loving and someone who will be your dear friend or dear partner? And the only reason you don't want to meet me or date me or take me seriously is because I have an extra 10 or 100 pounds on me? Whatever. It's not MY problem: it's yours.

2.) It's okay not to be friends with exes. And actually not talk well about them.

Whether you have an ex-spouse, an ex-lover, or an ex-friend? Oh! The whole philosophy of having to be the "nice guy" (or gal in this case) and not saying anything negative about that person (lest you be perceived as bitter) is bullshit.  Sometimes, those ex-spouses, ex-lovers and ex-friends deserve that label. If you were truly fucked over, there is nothing wrong with being upset, saying it, and even warning others about that person.

I don't know if it's that label ("bitter ex") that makes us think that we can't voice the truth when we get hurt. We should be okay with that. It's life. People disappoint and hurt us. Admitting you're hurt and disappointed does not make you bitter: it makes you human. When people make you feel bad about it, it's denying what happened, how you're feeling, and hinders your healing.  Some people you meet really might not be good people. It's not wrong to say that out loud.

And if people think you're bitter? Fuck 'em. You're 42. You don't care about their opinion anymore afterall. ;-)

3.) People born into your family do not have to be your friends.  Oh, it took me long to realize this. People always say "blood is thicker than water" but if that blood comes from a stone? It's not worth it. It's okay not to love your blood relations as much as your friend relations. Birthright does not make a relationship.

4.) Never live with someone you're dating.

People say to "test drive" it -- see if you can live together before you make it official. Whether getting married, have a civil union (grrr! hate that term. Everyone, no matter gender, race, religion, whatever! should be able to marry if they wish!), or whatever you want to call it.  But in my opinion, test drives are for cars, not for human beings.  I'm so not willing to be "test drived", and so neither should the partner in my life be.  If someone wants to "see how it will work" before committing, he or she is a coward. It's way too easy to break up if you're just shacking up. If you love someone enough to want to live with them? Make it official. If you're still figuring it out? Figure it out. But don't live with someone until you do.

5.) Don't forget the people who count.

We all have obligations. With friends, with family, with children, with work. The people who count? Are the ones who we often don't recognize. The ones who come up to you and thank you for random things at work when you thought you were just doing your job. The sibling who picked up your child at daycare because you couldn't get there in time. The friend who didn't think twice when you locked your keys in your car and had to drive you back home to get your spare. It's so very often that we forget who IS there for want of others who aren't there. Re-evaluate who is in your life. It's about quality, not quantity.

And that's it for now. :-) Until next time....