When You’re Wild and Young

Alone in the night is never really a good feeling especially when you have someone there next to you. You dwell on past experiences, you regret yet you don’t regret, you feel like a failure, you feel sad that you’re so sad and choose to be so. It reminds you that you still have dreams, I guess. That you think that you do deserve the best, or better than you’re getting.

You get to cry silently. Maybe the other person feels a slight shudder beneath the blankets but ignores it because he just doesn’t want to deal with it…again.

I’ve never had such great ideas as I do in the night. Every emotion that I try to closet during the daily routine rushes out then and it frightens me and excites me. I can do this, I think. Yes.

I’ll write whole paragraphs in the night, in my mind. Wishing and hoping that I’ll remember them in the morning…but they drift away. And the more I try to remember, the further away it goes. Not the story, but how I want to share it.

I’d love to write about actual experiences, but they may be too personal for me yet to unveil. Not necessarily to myself because I’ve already thought about them over and over. But, what if a particular someone read it and was shocked by it all. Maybe didn’t want to hear or read such words. I don’t know if I could ever do that to them.

So that is why I’m scared to write my heart and soul out. I really don’t know how you can do that without the uncomfortableness, without the hurting. I’m close to it though. Maybe one day soon I’ll be able to. I’d have to start from the beginning of course. Way way back when I was truly innocent of such thinkings that go on in men’s minds. Way back when I was only fifteen.



Apologies To My Mother

We knew we were assholes to our parents during our teen years but I must say I was (am) unprepared for my own foray into the upbringing of such miniature adults. I always joked and prided myself in the facts that my kids are well behaved, smart and sweet and would not put me through the horror and heartache of teenaged angst. But…it ain’t no joke. They are completely unmanageable, unrelatable, unreliable, and impossible.

From asking to go to a friend’s house with no further information as to who, what, where, when and why…”like, WHY?”

To wanting a new pair of soccer shoes just because one WANTS a new pair of soccer shoes….”like, WHY NOT?”

To pulling a three-day jam packed marathon of a school project off and telling me the night before the due date that they are still in need of a poster board, markers, paint supplies AND a unicorn!

To signing up to volunteer but NOT wanting to actually volunteer…”I didn’t realize I’d have to do stuff.”

To cleaning one’s room every Friday, now it’s Saturday, and now it’s Sunday and it STILL looks like a landfill. *deer in headlights glare*

To complete ANY task “quickly, quietly and expeditiously” (a quote from my high school English teacher that I only relate to and appreciate nowadays) before I start to say “MOVE FASTER AND KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT WHILE DOING IT.”

To questioning my opinions on dropping out of school, the selling-distribution-and-inhaling of pot, minimum wage, career choices, possibly not wanting to attend college, driver’s education, wardrobe choices and overall grooming.

And finally, to why am I so strict? Why do I not trust them? Why am I so mean…why, why, WHY?

They are slowly breaking me down. I have not the energy nor the desire to stick to my guns. I think they sense my fatigue. Times like these, I have to regroup…step back, plan my next three moves, be ready.

Now I know why my mother actually enjoyed going off to work every day…and I mean, every day of the week. She had four teenaged daughters all at the same time. We were sneaky, conniving, mean, thieves, crazy. We knew EVERYTHING. We did NO wrong and we believed we were NEVER wrong even if we KNEW we were DEFINITELY wrong.

So, I am off to strategize, but before I go, I’d like to publicly apologize to my mom after all these years.

I am so sorry for all the shit we (I) put you through. For making you cry, for being mean and disrespectful. We (I) knew better than that because of the way you raised us, but we (I) CHOSE to rebel instead because of the selfishness that is within each one of us. Because you were an easy target due to your unconditional love for us. Because you were tired. Because you were one against four. Because of so many things.

I understand you now and I don’t relate much to my teenaged self. Just like I don’t relate much to my teenaged kids. But, I see that one gets through it, we grow up and have our own kids and REVENGE really is the sweetest of things.

Love you always,


Almost Forgetting Oneself…Thank Goodness for Those Teenaged Years

She motioned to me that she wanted to leave
And go somewhere warm, where we’d be alone
I do not know, what’s going on but I’m guessing
It’s an all night thing, yeah, it’s an all night thing

Those lyrics were in my head last night as I was falling asleep. The sweet, smooth, powerful voice of Chris Cornell from Soundgarden and Audioslave fame. This song, All Night Thing, a part of a little known yet awesome album by Temple of the Dogs (a merging of members from both Pearl Jam and Soundgarden) as a tribute to a friend who died so young.

Poetic musings to a jazz beat, starting softly and then belting it out in that rock-grunge fashion, making me feel every emotion of every line sung. Sing it, baby! Wooh!

I’ve always loved that song since the first time I heard it. Funny how things that touched you so like that as a teenager can stay with you even twenty years later. Back then, I’d listen to that album on repeat, actually one of the first CD’s I had ever purchased from that mail order service they used to have…pick 19 CD’s for a penny, or something ridiculously incredibly awesome like that.

I was so fascinated by the lyrics…what did it mean, did this really happen, would this happen to me? It was my teenage fantasy not so dissimilar to that of a fairytale princess waiting for her knight in shining armor. Yet much more mysterious, more forbidden. I had just started dating my first love, you see, so the hormones and reason were pretty much out of control. I would push repeat on that song until I tired of it, letting the CD go on to the next and next, all such good songs, but definitely different tones and moods.

I even took colored pencils to paper once and wrote the lyrics out, drawing a dead tree, a moon, a dark sky. That’s what we did before iPad doodling or searching Tumblr for THE perfect meme to describe your emotions. I still have that piece of artwork and I cherish it and cringe at it, all the same. Let twenty years pass by and you’ll understand why.


As the days turn from one to the next, you sometimes forget who you were as a young adult finding yourself. You look at people and situations with scorn now. You scrutinize and demean, in an all-knowing megalomaniacal way. You forget to dream because you’re older now.

I listen to this song today and I still get the same feelings I did at sixteen. It haunts me. It moves me. I’m reflective. I wonder. And, that pleases me, it means I’m only partially jaded.

Song Reference: Temple of The Dog, All Night Thing.  A&M Records, 1991.

The Music Can’t Play Loud Enough Today

Woke up in a pretty decent mood. Had to bring my son to school early for a field trip. Made sure he had packed a lunch, some money in his pocket for a drink or a souvenir and his belt on to satisfy the dress code.

Was falling asleep on the couch watching the local weather. There was a cool” front coming today…wind, chilly, 67 degrees. I felt a thud on the top of my nose. The baby had almost crushed my face with some headphones (of course I’m exaggerating). It was the large kind that cover a baby’s head and ears AND cheeks. My mood started to shift downward.

Dropped my daughter off at the bus stop. We sat in silence, neither of us ready to compete with the birds chirping. I checked Facebook, she checked Tumblr. The bus arrived and I returned home to a sleeping husband, a passed out baby and lukewarm tea. My mood started to shift upward.

Went for a walk with a friend and our babies. Two and a half miles later, we had talked about kids, expenses, fashion, sweating and what to make for dinner. I rewarded myself with gas station coffee for two bucks. We continued on to Publix, where shopping is truly a pleasure, and picked up a few items for the day’s meals. My mood was still up until I ALMOST forgot my grocery bag and THOUGHT I lost my phone.

I commenced the daily routine of cleaning up after pigs. Yes, my family has turned into a bunch of pigs. The dishes were piled up, towels to be folded were waiting for me on the couch, the whites were sitting in the dryer still wet. The baby’s toys…well…they’re just EVERYWHERE!

I put on some music to distract me from sitting around and moping about it all. The music couldn’t get loud enough. Each song, I turned it up louder. Maybe my Pandora station selection was a bit too cryptic today because it seemed to increase my sadness. I was feeling the lyrics. The anxiousness was getting the best of me. Make the music louder. Louder. LOUDER.

It’s just one of those days.

Below are a few funnies that I found while searching for some humor to go along with my post. They made me laugh so hard because of their truth and because of Anxiety Cat’s expression. It is, what I call “CLASSIC!” with a cackle to go along with my exclamation. I feel better for now.





Things I Absolutely Love and Why, Part III

I wouldn’t say the past week and a half has been very busy, but sometimes the days get away from us and we forget to revel in the little things. As this month of love winds down, I’ve found a few more things that quite tickle my fancy.

Winnin’ 💪😁👍
I love to be right! For example, I was explaining to my husband one evening that our son moves in a sloth-like manner for things that require prompt and steady reaction. Things such as grabbing the puke bucket while baby projectile vomits all over the living room. I used the term “lackadaisical” and my husband chuckled and corrected me stating “the correct pronunciation is lacksadaisacal…there is an S in there.” I paused for a moment and thought that I may have stumbled, but then I regained composure and explained to him that I believe I am indeed correct…don’t doubt the spelling bee queen, here! He chuckled again and said that I was very wrong, even enlisting our daughter to mock and provoke me. I proved to him in less than a minute by typing the word in spell check and then again on the internet…the dictionary, yes, trusty old Merriam-Webster had validated me…I was RIGHT! haHA! *Victory fist pump*

Dreamin’ 😴📖
When my bed is made…it looks so nice and neat. This is a rare occasion. I’m not sure why, it only takes a few minutes to do. But, some days, I just am not feeling it. Maybe it’s a kind of rebellion, harken back to my childhood where I don’t recall ever having to make my bed, so why should I now? It makes me feel just a tiny little bit like my house is in order when the comforter is straight and the pillows lined up and fluffed. It makes me want to sit on my bed and read a book of the actual paper and binding kind. Peruse magazines. Write grocery lists and calendar events. It makes me want to lay my head down and nap for no less than two hours, maybe three. Yes…such fantasies I weave.

My Roman sandals. At this point, they literally are just pieces of cardboard glued together and bound with some awesome leather, strappy, worn, faded, and second-hand. My youngest sister always tries to give her hand-me-downs to my teenaged daughter and these were in the mix a few years ago. Actually, I think they were going to be thrown in the trash along with the mountain of boxes she always brings to my house to recycle. But I scooped these out of the garbage can and they’ve never gone a day without my feet since then. I can wear them with practically any outfit and any season (it being Florida and all). I can wear them to the beach, to the mall, to the park, to the library, for shopping, for strolling, for my kids’ award ceremonies. They are always ready to go, by the door, slip them on and I’m out. The baby has started playing with all of our shoes. He’ll walk around in them as if he’s grown up. He leaves toys in them. He leaves them in separate rooms. My husband came across one of my sandals and slipped it on his big toe and I exclaimed, a bit frightened, “Don’t! You’ll rip it and I won’t be able to wear them anymore!” He laughed and I snatched it from his ridiculously large and brutal foot. My heart raced as I inspected it. I can’t even find a brand name or size on the damn thing to prepare for the day I have to replace them. I hope they last a few more years, my feet and I love them so.

Indulgin’ 🍴🍰
Cheesecake. I had a dinner date with an old high school friend last Friday. We live in separate towns and try to meet for lunch every few months to catch up. We had planned to meet at The Cheesecake Factory, the place that serves ridiculous portion sizes for dinner at ridiculous prices, but I can overlook that because they have the most amazing cheesecake, in my opinion. I like my cheesecake plain, soft, creamy…and that’s exactly how they make it. The calorie count for one slice makes me cry out in horror, but since I hardly ever eat dessert, I can indulge. But, during the season of Autumn, they have two special ones, Pumpkin and Pumpkin Pecan. They are so scrumptious, so delectable, so damn good that I’ll talk about it for months. I attempted to order it that night, but sadly, it is only a seasonal item (which I knew, of course), but hoping and hoping and asking and asking again did not make them appear. I’ve turned my daughter onto it, as well. She normally does not accompany me on such dates, but made sure to include herself this time. She left with the strawberry cheesecake, I with The Original. I took two days to savor each bite, consciously eating only half of mine at each dessert time. It was good…oh, so good.


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The little things in beauty

Welcome!! This blog is all over the place but it's made with love. It's me, my computer and my love for makeup. So let's go on an avanture <3

because BECAUSE is not an answer!

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Dimitris Melicertes

I don't write, I touch without touching.


An eccentric blogger with a pen and a thousand ideas

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