Life’s too short for bad coffee.
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Posts Tagged: humor
1
Dec 09
When To Pitch The Avocado
I’ve got leftover turkey to deal with. Not sure why I made a 10 pound turkey for the three of us. I knew, going into Thanksgiving, that Jenny wouldn’t eat any turkey. I made some noodle/turkey casserole thingee the other night. It was okay. It wasn’t anything that we’re dying to have again. I pitched the rest of that. Next I’ll try turkey soup. What is the compulsion to use every bit of the bird when I know that none of us are interested in eating any more of it? I satisfied the desire to prepare a traditional Thanksgiving meal. Why must I sentence us to boring meals until we’ve used every last bit?
I do the same thing with avocados. I buy a couple because they are good for us and some of us like them. I make plans and before I know it, the avocados have zoomed past ripe and landed right at gross. But avocados are expensive. I hate wasting them. I could buy cilantro and limes and make guacamole, but I’d be throwing good money after bad, in an effort to save what has gone bad. The guacamole wouldn’t be nearly as good as excellent guac made with perfectly ripe avocados.
I’ve done the same with a few relationships. I set out with the right intentions, only to have things go bad. Then I keep throwing good energy at it, hoping to make what is bad better. If a relationship is bad, I can throw all the positive spin in the world at it, and at the end of the day, it’s still just bad. I remember the counselor saying, “Put a positive spin on it. No marriage is all bad.” I was never quite sure how to put a positive spin on my continual failure as a spouse. You could dress me up, but I still couldn’t clean or cook well, as far as Mark was concerned.
I was talking to a dear friend yesterday. She’s at the end of her rope in a friendship with her neighbor. She kept giving her neighbor the benefit of the doubt. After three years of being a good listener and supportive friend, and getting the life sucked right out of her, my friend called it quits with her neighbor. And, because my friend is a really good person, she feels guilty about it. Isn’t that just how it is? Does the neighbor feel any guilt for taking and taking and never giving, during the entire length of that relationship? Who knows for sure. But, clearly, she took that love and attention for granted.
How are we supposed to know when enough is enough? When can we be done reinventing leftover turkey? When can we quit investing in a relationship that is not going anywhere? Who decides when and if it is time to quit? Do we wait for our partner or friend to make the decision? Can we get to the point where we honestly feel we have tried and given enough? When can we walk away with a clear conscience and hold our head high and say, “I did my best and it’s the best I can do?” Continue reading →
26
Nov 09
A Great Marriage
A great marriage is not when the perfect couple comes together. It is when an imperfect couple learns to enjoy their differences.
David Meurer
26
Nov 09
Survivor Humor
I heard this the other night and I immediately asked if I could use it. I’ve been thinking about how well it would tie into the next post I was planning to write. Just now I realized that this is worthy of a stand-alone piece.
Let me say, first of all, that I know that the world is populated with really good men. A lot of those good men also happen to be good fathers and good husbands. My brother and step-brothers, my cousins’ husbands, husbands of friends — all of them are stellar examples of fine men. They are the get-down-on-the-floor and play, bath-giving, diaper-changing, nose-wiping, up-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of fully involved dads. And they are the kind of men who see that marriage is a partnership that requires lots of sacrifice and compromise. I know that a good man is not a mythical creature.
Having said that, I still wonder how it is that I managed to marry a Narcissist when there are some damn fine men out there. I know all the factors that steered me in the direction of Mark. No point in beating myself up about it.
The kids and I are looking forward to ski season. When I met Mark, I was the more avid skier. He was eager to get out and do more downhill skiing, so we enjoyed several ski seasons together before Will was born. I’ve heard the stories, and seen firsthand, how there are husbands out there who take turns. They actually opt to skip out on fishing or hunting or skiing trips because they have children. Mark was of the mind set that the raising of the children was my job. And on the weekends, it was still my job. There was never any discussion about the possibility of skipping a day of skiing or, heaven-for-bid, babysitting Will so that I might hit the slopes. It was just understand that when children are introduced into the relationship, the wife’s life changes, but the husband’s remains the same.
Recently Will was asking me why it is that I never go fishing anymore. Apparently, Mark kindly pointed out that when I used to be fun, I would actually go fishing. I explained that I used to enjoy flyfishing a lot. In fact, his father and I took up the sport together. Then I went on to explain that when Will was born, it fell on me to stay with the kids so that Mark could still fish. Jenny is now getting to the age where we could all fish together. But it’s been a lot of years, and I’m a little rusty on my casting. I’m going to find a good way to explain to Will and Jenny that there are men out there who take turns. That means that sometimes the whole family goes fishing, and the dad hangs with the kids a bit while the mom fishes, and then the mom hangs with the kids. You get the picture. It’s a novel concept. But, I’ve heard that it works. Continue reading →
16
Nov 09
Narcissists and Friendship
A very dear friend called this weekend. We’ve known each other since college. She’s one of those special friends that, although we may not get to visit as much as I’d like, when we do talk, we pick up right where we left off. She’d been reading my blog and thought maybe I needed a call. I didn’t realize I was sending out an S.O.S. That’s a beautiful thing about good friends, they often know you better than you know yourself. They can tell when you are feeling vulnerable, they can appreciate your successes, they know your different phases. They can tell you to quit taking yourself so seriously, just as you can do that for them.
When I was first dating Mark, I was curious about the fact that he didn’t have any friends. Actually, there was one guy that he would do a few things with, but he was kind of an odd duck. He didn’t have any friends, either. I just assumed that Mark poured himself into his business, and he didn’t have any time to cultivate friendships. Funny how you can so easily turn a negative into a positive when you are in a new relationship. Then, when Mark and I had been married for awhile, I would think to myself, “Well, I guess he just prefers to spend his time with me when he’s not working.”
I would have killed to be a hunting widow or a golf widow. Every healthy relationship needs those spaces where you go away, get a new perspective, and come back to look at your partner with fresh eyes. You don’t need to go away for a long time. Maybe you need an afternoon break, or a weekend break. Never having a break from your partner is like never changing the sheets on your bed. They can get pretty stale and smelly.
Several years into our marriage, Mark would rant about how I prevented him from going on his mountain adventures. He felt tied down and never got to take off like he did before we were married. I had heard the stories of his adventures. In most cases, he was by himself. I think he was angry with himself for not wanting to go by himself any more, and so he directed the anger at me.
Narcissists are lousy at friendship. They aren’t interested in carrying on a conversation unless the talk is all about them. And they sure aren’t going to spend any time worrying about someone else’s issues, feelings or concerns. A close friend of ours was going through a divorce. I had invited her for dinner. I wanted her to know that she had our support while she went through a difficult time. We shared some beers on the front deck, and we just let her vent. That’s what friends do. At one point, Mark got out of his lawn chair and headed into the house. I thought he was getting something to drink. He didn’t come back. He didn’t come back for dinner, either. I made some excuse for our friend, saying something like, “Oh, Mark hasn’t been feeling well.” I had seen him do this before — get up from the dinner table, or simply leave a room in the middle of a conversation. His rudeness astounded me. After the friend had gone home, I asked what had happened to him. He simply said, “I was bored with the conversation and wasn’t interested in sticking around for any more.” That is precisely why he’d find himself alone on his mountain trips.
13
Nov 09
When A 15 Minute Trick Doesn’t Cut It
I’ve been around the block a few times — sometimes even stomping my feet while I make the pass. I know that, in some cases, a few deep breaths, or a glass of water, or a handful of nuts, or a self-imposed time-out just won’t do the trick. Hell, I’ve even chugged the glass of water, grabbed the handful of nuts, marched outside, and come storming back in to start scrubbing the floor. By then, I’ve gone way beyond the 15 minutes, and it’s still not working.
This is when I get serious. This will sound like a contradiction to the 15 Minute Tricks, but it’s necessary to get inside my head for this approach. I force myself to sort through all the tangled thoughts that are swimming around in my brain.
An aside … One day I’m getting my haircut by this gal that I love who runs a beauty shop with her sister. They are chatting about this book that one of them is reading. It has something to do with “Women are Spaghetti and Men are Waffles.” How can you not enjoy an analogy like that? Besides, I absolutely adore spaghetti. I guess the premise is that women have every thought they’ve ever had wrapped around every other thought they’ve ever had. And all those thoughts are standing at the ready to wrap around any new or potential thoughts. Men compartmentalize their thoughts into neat little boxes, like the sections of a waffle. I’ve got to get that book. Anyway, I find that I’ve been enjoying thinking of female brains as plates of spaghetti, and male brains as a bunch of boxes with lids. (I don’t really like waffles. And I admire a guy’s ability to put a topic or thought into a box, put a lid on it, and return to it later. Sometimes they decide they don’t like, never have liked, that thought, and they never go back. I wish I could do that.)
So I’m going with the plate-of-spaghetti analogy. In that plate of spaghetti, or pile of thoughts, there are usually a couple thoughts that seem to be festering among the other relatively innocuous thoughts. The plan is to ferret out the one or two thoughts that seem to be poisoning all the others. The poisonous thoughts are the ones that do me in. I can deal with all the mundane issues. I begin to sort out the thoughts. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do about them, and take some kind of action.
Maybe your laptop is away for repairs. Maybe your laundry is multiplying and making its way down the hall. Maybe toys are littering every corner of the house. Maybe your mom can’t seem to find a way to say anything without hurting your feelings. Maybe the leaves are piling up and waiting for you to go at them with a rake. Maybe the furnace only comes on when you fiddle with the switch on the thermostat. Maybe the person you want to spend the rest of your life with lives 2000 miles away. Maybe you haven’t the slightest clue what to fix for dinner. Continue reading →
12
Nov 09
In Under 15 Minutes
I was irritated this afternoon. I was pissy, bitchy, frustrated and crabby. I felt like I was on the verge of a full-fledged funk. No, it wasn’t my period. No, Mark hadn’t done anything. I was out-of-sorts.
History has taught me that if I don’t get a handle on this crabbiness, it can go deep. I didn’t have the time or patience to walk the hill. I’m trying to be disciplined and not reach for a glass of wine. I needed to do something quick, between helping with homework and cooking dinner.
When I was married to Mark, we had a neighbor who was a lovely lady. I’d see her occasionally and she was always pleasant and encouraging. I always looked harried and tired. She didn’t have a clue about my marriage to a narcissist. She probably assumed that I looked the way I did because I was home all day with two little kids.
She’d often look at me with kind eyes and say, “This, too, shall pass.” Initially, I would find comfort in her words, but later I became annoyed with that expression. I kept wondering, “Just when will this pass? How long do I have to wait? Can’t I speed this up a bit?”
I needed to play a more active role in getting through those episodes. Continue reading →
6
Nov 09
Narcissists Can’t Dance
I got rid of my piano. I gave away the dining room table. We have a tiny house. But now we have some open floor space on the hardwoods in the dining room. It’s going to stay that way. Every morning we listen to music before we head out the door. Will gets to pick on Mondays and Wednesdays. Jenny picks on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I get Fridays. Most of the time, we are brushing our teeth while dancing in the middle of the dining room. It sets a happier tone and helps us choose a better attitude before we really get the day going.
In addition to saying your kind words to yourself each day, you ought to be making music a big part of your life. There are times when it’s comforting to listen to sad stuff. Sad music allows you to wallow in your mess a bit. You shouldn’t do that for long. But sometimes it’s necessary to feel crappy about your situation. It serves the same purpose as venting to a friend who will listen. Music shares your pain. After a couple or three moody songs, then it’s time to pick something fast, fun and in-your-face. Our current favorites are “Rocks in Your Shoes” by Emily West, and “Heaven” by Los Lonely Boys. Will and Jen know all the words by heart. I’m pretty sure they haven’t listened enough to get the meaning. But they love the beat.
When I was a kid we had a Hammond Organ. Wow. It’s great fun when you are a sixth grader comparing notes on what instrument you play. One kid plays the flute. One kid plays the trumpet. The cool kid plays the drums. The even cooler kid plays the guitar. And the nerdy girl plays the organ. I got to take organ lessons. That’s probably when I first learned to be self-deprecating. If you can’t laugh at yourself for taking organ lessons, then you better develop a thicker skin.
My mom had a thing for playing the piano and then the organ. She tells how when she and my dad first divorced, she would tuck my brother in his bed, and me in my bed, fix a stiff drink, put on the headphones, and play the organ — really loud. It was her way of shouting at the world. Her way of expressing all that anger and resentment.
I hate the organ. I have an iPod. Lucky me. The three of us enjoy it in the morning. I enjoy it all by myself at night. I’ve noticed that I’ve gravitated toward the fast, take-on-the world kind of songs; and away from the sad, what-about-me songs. And the dancing is a big part of the music. We all dance like maniacs around here. It’s a great way to have fun with each other. And for me, it’s a great way to relieve stress. Who cares what you look like? It’s about the fun of expressing the music. Continue reading →
31
Oct 09
Can You Connect With A Narcissist?
My brother has big, chocolate brown eyes. When he is conversing with you, his eyes are focused on you and nothing else. His gaze is warm and welcoming. He doesn’t make you feel like you are being interrogated, he makes you feel comfortable and accepted. My sister-in-law laughs when she talks of how my brother knows everyone in their neighborhood, their dogs’ names, and who might be ready for a pick-up game of racquetball. He can be intense — in a good way. You get the feeling that he is interested in what you have to say, and he wants to know more.
I get energized from connecting with people.
(I admit that connecting with others is a way for my hole to get filled. I know… I’m supposed to do that from within.)
My kids and I will be looking for something at Target, and I’ll ask a clerk for help. Invariably, while she’s leading us to the widget that I can’t find, she’ll tell us about the time that she bought the same widget; how her husband thought she was crazy, but that it did exactly what the product was supposed to do; how her mother-in-law bought the same thing, and now the whole family swears by this widget; and on and on …
I can’t get out of a store without hearing the makings of a life story. Continue reading →
28
Oct 09
Filling The Hole
I can’t sleep — again. Jenny woke at 2:30 a.m. and came in my bed.
In the old days when I couldn’t get back to sleep, I’d lay there thinking about what I was doing wrong, what I needed to change, or how I could do better. Now when I can’t sleep, I think about how far I’ve come, how I really am doing well, and how I can’t wait to write on this blog.
If you have never tried journaling, you need to. I’ve written in diaries or journals – and now this blog – my whole life. A journal provides a guarantee that you will always be listened to and heard.
Anyway, now it’s 4:00 a.m., so I might as well get up, fix some decaf tea, grab some graham crackers and start writing. It’s funny how as my fingers fly across the keyboard, my head seems to empty of all the thoughts keeping me awake, and my body loses its tenseness.
Tonight I was thinking about my theory – it’s not an original theory. It’s an amalgamation of a bunch of different theories that I’ve read about in all the self-help books that I’ve devoured over the years.
I believe we all have a hole in our soul. Some call the hole a void or an injury. I don’t like “injury”. It’s too dramatic. “Injury” leads to the word “victim”. I don’t like walking around thinking that I’m a victim. It sounds helpless and hopeless. Continue reading →
26
Oct 09
Narcissists Are Six-Year-Olds
When I first started digging into all this narcissism stuff, I kept reading that a narcissist’s maturity level stops at about the age of six. I was astounded at how all these characteristics of narcissism perfectly fit my ex-husband. But I have to admit, I really thought the six-year-old thing was a bit of a stretch. I guess I was taking it too literally. I mean he owned a business, drove a car and had a checkbook. He didn’t really act like a six-year-old. Or did he?
While Mark was here to visit with the kids Friday night, he kept trying to hatch a plan to pick them up the next day. I could hear the kids dodging his questions. When they don’t want to do anything with him, they always say, “We’ll have to check with mom, first, to see if she has made any plans.” That’s my clue to make up some plans. They’d been kind of secretive with him when he was asking them about getting together. After he left, they told me the reason they didn’t want to see him the next day. Turns out he had come up with a plan for a Christmas gift for me. He wanted the kids to help him with it. They wanted to have nothing to do with it because it was all his plan. He hadn’t asked for any of their input.
The next morning, he called to see when he could pick up the kids. It’s getting somewhat easier to be honest with him. I told him that they weren’t excited about working on the project with him since it was all his idea. He said, “Well I know it was all my idea, but I thought they liked my idea.” I thought to myself, “Well did you ask them if they liked your idea? Or did you just assume that they liked your idea? Or better yet, how about you ask them what they’d like to get me for Christmas.”
Here’s where the six-year-old behavior begins. That was Saturday morning. I’m writing this Monday, after the kids have gone to bed. He usually calls for his bogus goodnight calls almost every night. He didn’t call Saturday, Sunday, and now Monday nights. He is pouting. We are being taught a lesson. He is giving us the cold shoulder. We have gotten to the point where we really enjoy not hearing from him for a couple or three days. One of the kids will notice that he’s not calling and say, “Dad must be pouting again.” Then a couple more days will pass and one of the kids will miss him. They will ask if they can call him. I will say, “Of course you can call your dad.” They will call, and he will pick up where he left off at the last visit, like nothing ever happened.
A couple years ago on Father’s Day, Will was torn about what to do. He felt obligated to spend the day with his dad, but he also wanted to spend time with his grandpa, at the cabin. We came up with a marvelous idea for fitting both plans into the day. When we explained the plan to Mark, he actually whined and said, “Well what about me? What am I supposed to do? It’s my Father’s Day, ya know.” At the time, Will was 9, and grandpa had already assumed more of the fathering role than Mark had. Will knew that he was expected to spend the day with his father, but he also knew what a farce that was. I remember the three of us standing in the driveway. Will and I looked at each other and then we both looked at Mark. I couldn’t believe that not only had that immature thought entered Mark’s mind, but he actually verbalized that thought–in front of his son. Who were the adults in that scenario? Besides, once someone says something like, “Hey, you’re supposed to be with me,” how much does anyone want to be with them? And how enjoyable, then, is it for the person who had to beg another to spend time with them? Continue reading →
12
Oct 09
Advice
When a man comes to me for advice, I find out the kind of advice he wants, and I give it to him.
Josh Billings
