Tag Archives: relationships

I Accidentally Say “Pocket Rocket”


We went to lunch today with some friends and during polite conversation I accidentally said the phrase, “Pocket Rocket.” It was kind of weird and awkward and goofy and then everyone laughed assuming I didn’t know what it meant and then it was even a bit more uncomfortable as I tried to explain that I DID know what it meant, but you know, meant to say something else. All the while I am sure I turned beet red because now people know, that I know, what it means, and of course,  that is also extremely awkward and slightly embarrassing (especially during polite lunch conversation). What I was really trying to say was “Crotch Rocket.” This is why I usually try not to leave the house.


Somebody asked me about going to South Carolina and so I had to elaborate about attending Black Bike Week. I was trying to talk about the motorcycles, using my limited knowledge and vocabulary to describe them, which was probably a bit of a mistake. When I get nervous and start talking too fast things like “Pocket Rocket,” just slip right out into the middle of all of the nice people eating lunch. Sometimes, there is a nice warm-up get-to-know you period where I meet people for the first time and it’s lovely and I’m delightful. Other times, I just spill my guts out on the table and exclaim, “This is me in all my awkwardness. Take it or leave it, or ride off on a pocket rocket-crotch rocket.” That’s kind of what happened today.


Luckily, I was saved when my friend told me she never knows what anyone is talking about “these days” and has to look it all up in the Urban Dictionary online. That was kind of a relief because I also never seem to know what people are talking about “these days” and frequently have to go looking things up online. I felt a little better after that, but also a little sad, because I am sure sometime tonight she will be looking up the definition of  “pocket rocket” and then I know she will be wondering about me.

High School Reunions: Are They Good Or Bad For The Soul?

I didn’t like high school. To be as frank as possible I truly disliked it. Maybe it was my teenage angst, or my turbulent family life, or just school in general, but once I graduated I didn’t really ever want to go back. I was done. I washed my hands of the whole mess and turned whole heartedly toward my future. No more kids throwing gum in my hair on the bus, no more cliques, and no more silly nonsense. It was over, kaput, finished.

Life after high school was nice. I blossomed. The future looked bigger, better, and brighter. There was hope and possibility ahead of me. Everything felt wide open.

People Signed My Yearbook. Even People I Barely Knew.

I did go back to my high school (even though I swore I never would). Twice. Once to see my sister sing in chorus and then again when she graduated (eight years after I did). The choral concert was difficult to attend because the smell of the school (dusty sneakers and old baloney sandwiches come to mind) brought back memories. Not good memories or bad really, but memories of a quiet desperation and an urgent need to escape. I liked parts of high school, don’t get me wrong. There was art class, English class, and drama club. I also liked going to swim meets, study hall, and football games, but most of the time I was bored or tired. Most of the time I was weary. I was playing defense more often than I care to admit. High school was not the best time of my life. Not even close. Not even by a long shot. Somehow, I am truly grateful that it wasn’t. I sort of feel sorry for people who claim high school was their prime life event. Hearing that usually makes me feel sad.

Me In Drama Club. Leggings Were Hot Back Then. Oh, And Now Too.

Fast forward almost 20 years and here I am utilizing social media to reconnect with all sorts of old pals and guess what? Next summer is the 20th high school reunion for my graduating class. It’s kind of a shock to turn around and look 20 years in the face like that. How is it possible for time to pass so quickly? I think it took me 15 years just to get over my high school experience. I would have anxiety dreams that I had to return to high school and complete some additional course work because I didn’t actually graduate, some mistake had been made and just discovered. I’d wake up in a cold sweat and remind myself that I was a college graduate now. Everything was going to be OK. I must be over it though, because I am actually considering going to my reunion. Shocked? So am I! It gets worse: I am actually looking forward to it.

Current Events From My Year Book. Yes, I am THAT old.
More Current Events. Yep, Mariah was “the bomb” at the time.

Some of the most interesting people I have known are people I went to high school with. I want to see them again. I want to know them better as adults. I am truly amazed by how talented, generous, intelligent, and beautiful my fellow students have become. The caterpillars have all become butterflies. Maybe even me. Going back and mingling with the people I came of age with may be a liberating experience and one that changes my perspective on what high school was all about. Maybe it will give me some closure on my tortured teenage self. Maybe it won’t, but that is OK too. It just doesn’t matter that much anymore.

What do you think, are High School reunions good or bad? Have you gone to any of yours?

I’m The White Rabbit

Little Miss Tiny-Small just crashed out for a nap and I am running in circles with a thought process that goes something like this: “Free time, free time, free time….should I clean? Eat? Sleep? Paint? Blog? Exercise? Call Someone? Decide, decide decide…time is ticking …time is ticking!!!!” Well, I guess you figured out I decided to blog. Lately I have been feeling like the white rabbit from “Alice in Wonderland.” I don’t carry around a giant pocket watch, but trust me the clock is constantly breathing down my neck. I rarely finish anything and when I do I usually just have to start doing it all over again anyway. There is no gold star waiting for me at the end of the day.

This clock comes with coo-coo o’clock, my personal favorite time of day.

This morning I was trying to remember the last time I had an hour off from being mommy, but the only thing I could come up with was three weeks ago I went to the library for 20 minutes by myself. I think I can count on my fingers (and still have some left over) the hours I have been away from my daughter since she was born. I think I am getting a bit burned out. I have been running in this rat race for almost two years now  and I am ready for a bathroom break, a coffee break, or maybe even a visit with a professional counselor. If I enrolled myself in therapy I’d ask the therapist to just be quiet for an hour. I’d say, “Can I just sit here in silence for 55 minutes? That’s all I need. Also, would you mind locking the door so nobody can come in?” Yes, this is what I fantasize about. Other woman daydream about Brad Pitt and chocolate fountains. I daydream about quiet. A place where children don’t scream, dogs don’t bark, and husbands don’t “accidentally” slam the door every 15 minutes. It’s amazing how simple things can get when you feel like you are about to lose your mind.

Rosie: Born to bark…and bark…and bark.

So, I went down to the local Family Resource Center because they claim to know EVERYTHING baby going on in these parts. I was hoping to find a preschool, a play group, a park I may have missed (since the hoodlums burned down Penny Park, the only park in town that I am aware of, we haven’t been out with other kids much) or even another mom who wants to play trading parents once in a while. I was desperate. I was willing to pay big bucks to get a few hours to myself each week. I was willing to give up food, coffee, and water to make this happen. The very nice woman told me that all of the “good” places in town have a waiting list and all of the “bad” places in town might have openings, but only parents who didn’t care about the well being of their child dropped them off in “those” places. Wow, way to lay on the guilt, lady! So I asked about the waiting lists, I mean if I knew relief was coming eventually, maybe in a few months or so, I could make it, right? Well, most of the good places have waiting lists of 200 people or more. So, basically by the time Tiny-Small enters middle school they will likely have an opening. Great. She’ll be the tallest kid in her preschool class.

Because sometimes the desperate mom just ain’t that attractive.

What to do now? Now I will have to prowl the streets searching for qualified babysitters and begging other mom types I run into at the grocery store to become my friend. The only friend I have with a child remotely close to my daughters age lives 60 miles away. Why don’t I have more child bearing friends and how the heck do I make them? Most of the people I know have adult children, no children, or are grandparents that are sick of children. I meet 15 year old young women with children all the time and even though I may be slightly immature for my age we still have so little in common. I’m like, “Maybe you should spend your money on food instead of buying Nike’s for your 18 month old.” And she’s like, “Why don’t you shut the f*#k up and mind your own business?” I just sigh and say, “Nice language.” Then she says, “You’re old.” Yeah…those relationships aren’t the long lasting kind.

On top of wanting a break I also want Tiny-Small to socialize with her peers. I want her to learn to share, play nice, and fight for her right to party (with or without lampshades on her head). She needs to have some friends to tattle on and to get in trouble with. She needs other two year olds to tell HER, “No!” once in a while. She needs to learn that other little girls and boys think they are the center of the universe too. I need something to shock that girl into reality.

Trolling for toddlers and moms at the library.

I sure hope someone or something comes along soon. If I don’t get a break they might have to pull me out of the rabbit hole kicking and screaming. It won’t be pretty. The neighbors are probably already discussing me amongst themselves. They are asking each other, “Does she ever leave the house?” and “I don’t think so. Have you ever seen her dressed?” I want to be like the fabulous women I see on the Internet everyday. Their houses are clean, their BFF is over drinking wine with them while their children play and fight with one another. It sounds like a little piece of heaven. At least it sounds a little less isolating and lonely. Plus, they can take turns refereeing the children and one mom can hold down the fort while the other one uses the bathroom with the door closed or drives to the liquor store (all be herself) for another bottle of wine. For now I’ll just keep chasing the dream and trying to outrun the clock. I’ll be drinking coffee and dragging Tiny-Small to every event in town that she is eligible to participate in. I’ll be the overly friendly mom in everyone’s face smiling a little too broadly and almost begging people to come over and play with us. If you happen to run into a slightly disheveled, overly eager, frantic looking mom please stop and say hello. It might just make her day! I know it would make mine.