Suburban Goddess

Some nights I sit here listening to my iPod and certain songs will send me to the coldest place…. it’s frightfully lonely here. I wonder if anyone will ever truly understand who I am…

Worse yet, I wonder if anyone will ever truly appreciate me… and I don’t even dare to dream that someone will love me as I am…

And then I hit fast-forward until something takes me away from this place. Music has a way of bringing out the deepest emotions in me.

“I want a vacation.”

“So take one.”

“I can’t. I have too much to do.”

“Then quit bitching, get it done, and take a vacation.”

“Is life always black and white with you?”

“What other colors are there?”

One of the things that terrifies me about dating seriously is the increasing availability of technological devices. As more and more people become “connected,” I’ve noticed that infidelity is on the rise.

My own foray into MySpace began because someone tipped me off that there were pictures of my husband and his mistress there. But the truth is, the infidelity started long before that. I should have known with the long hours he would sit up after I’d gone to bed, glued to his laptop. And the excessive texting with his Blackberry… he was constantly communicating with someone; and when I picked up his Blackberry to find out who, it was password protected.

Ladies & gentlemen, let me just give you this simple warning. If your significant other has to password-protect their phone from their spouse, then you might have a problem.

I found out later that a great deal of their relationship carried on over their Blackberries & MySpace… leaving me a victim of digital infidelity. It’s become so commonplace that people don’t even seem to react like they used to. Everyone knows someone who’s either been left or left someone for someone else “on the Internet.” It is so easy to cheat on your spouse these days that it’s almost acceptable, as long as you don’t sleep with them.

Honestly, to me, it’s the same thing. And in some ways, it’s actually worse. It’s one thing to have a physical relationship with someone; it’s another to share your deeper thoughts and feelings. I found out he’d discussed intimate details of our marriage with this woman; it’s the worst kind of betrayal. It’s not just a betrayal of the body; you’re sharing your mind, your heart, and your soul. And that’s the kind of commitment you vow to uphold when you pronounce yourself “exclusive” with someone.

Opening my heart after such a complete and total decimation of trust has been a true challenge. Vulnerability has never been something I’m comfortable with; now the fear is magnified. I have a friend who has hit the issue head on with her spouse; they both have complete access to one another’s accounts. ALL OF THEM. At first, I thought that was kind of controlling, but after being around them for a while I realize, it’s just the opposite. If you have nothing to hide, then why not share your passwords? If you have nothing to hide, you SHOULD have access to your spouse’s accounts… it’s not a control issue, but an act of pure and open trust, and a testament to your love for one another.

When you vow to share your life with someone, that means EVERYTHING. If you can’t make that kind of commitment, maybe you should re-evaluate your relationship. Or maybe you should take a look at what you’re hiding… and start asking yourself why you’re hiding it from the person you claim to love.

“I’m thinking about getting an IT degree.”

“Why?”

“So I can fix things when they break instead of waiting for months.”

“But don’t you know? They cut out the SMART part of your brain when you go into IT.”

“Well, that definitely answers a lot of questions.”

EDIT:  I forgot how many IT people read this blog, and I wanted you to know you guys are the EXCEPTIONS to the rule.  I’m referring to the “National-Institute-of-Technology-types,” the same wonderful institution that cranks out useless graphic designers by the thousands. I KNOW you know who I’m talking about. 

Since turning three, I’ve noticed a peculiar phenomenon occurring with my daughter. No matter where she goes, there is a path of stickiness, much like a snail trail.

It’s peculiar because Alex has always been somewhat of a neat-freak, having full-blown tantrums when her hands get dirty. Shortly after she learned to crawl, she’d hold her tiny little hands up with a beautiful pout as if to say, “Look, Mother, FILTH!” and she would cry until I wiped her hands clean.

But something happens when a child turns three; they develop multiple personalities. You quickly learn that the wonderful child that you had before is overtaken by an toddlerized Tyler Durden, and as time progresses that wonderful child is suppressed deeper and deeper into the subconscious, leaving you to pray for good days when she will be allowed to surface.

In the meantime, I’m investing in Johnson & Johnson stock. As long as there are children, they will turn a profit.

“She’s wearing a ring now.”

“The better to hock when he cheats on her, too.”

“If you hurt someone’s feelings by telling them the truth, does karma get you for that?”

“I don’t know. That’s a good question. I think it only counts against you if you take great pleasure in their pain.”

“Damn.”

Few people are close enough to me to know about it… my parents do… M knows… and D gives me the WORST time about it.

I have what I would consider a “staging” area where my laundry is concerned. I have no problem getting it to the washing machine or dryer. But after the dryer, it lands in a heap on top of my guest room bed…

…right on top of the LAST pile of laundry that I did.

So I’m late to work every morning, which might not be an issue if I didn’t have to iron everything every morning after I sift through the monster pile of fabric to find something suitable to wear. (C, breathe! I know this wreaks havoc on your OCD.) I’ve had the conversation many, many times…

“If you put your clothes AWAY, you wouldn’t have to IRON them.”

Yes, BUT…. that requires time, a precious commodity in my life. As far as my list of priorities goes, it’s just not at the top of the list. Actually, I don’t believe it’s on my list at all. I know that ironing also takes time, but in the grand scheme of things, five minutes ironing here and there is much less of a commitment than putting EVERYTHING away every time I do laundry.

Is this a sign of severe commitment issues?

“Mommy, these you BOOBIES?” Alex says while bopping my breasts. I pull her hands away and smiled my best “isn’t-she-just-precious” smile.

“Yes, honey. Now stop that.”

“Mommy, you wear a bra?” She continued to bop my boobs despite my best “no-no” face.

“Yes honey. Stop that! Look, you want some candy?”

“When I grow up, I have BOOBIES, too.”

I swear, I thought these situations only happened in the movies.

While driving to work this morning, I stopped at a stop sign. To my left at the intersection, there was a red SUV. As he began to pull out into the intersection, a small silver Honda blew past me on the right, coming through the stop sign and cutting off the SUV. This agitated the SUV driver quite fiercely, a conclusion I came to by watching him curse, wave his hands wildly, gesture (inappropriately) and honking the horn.

A moment later, the silver Honda had to make a left turn, and the SUV driver came up next to him, still yelling like a madman while honking at the Honda.

Not even 60 SECONDS LATER he rolled through the red light at the front of my neighborhood, cutting off two lanes of traffic.

Wow.