SpongeBob is Totally a Misleading Title for this Post

I had one of those "I feel sorry for myself" type of days today. I absolutely despise when this crappy mood creeps in... like a grown up version of the boogie man. An unwelcome surprise.


I heard you can make him go away to boogie man land from a pharmaceutical company once. I wasn't interested in their tall tales. 

First of all, I have absolutely no valid reason to feel like this. I am truly blessed. Sure life gets stressful and there are a lot of tough things I've dealt with and continue to deal with, but I know I need to suck it up because things could be way worse in my life.

Then I feel even less spectacular because I automatically feel selfish for even feeling down in the dumps.


Can we say just deal with it??


When I really sit down and think about it, I realize I am like a sponge. No SpongeBob jokes. This is serious. As serious as I get anyway. That being said I think I may name this blog post SpongeBob. We'll see. 

I soak up everyone else's worries and tears because I don't want them to feel it anymore. I listen, offer support, try to make everything better. But I am not necessarily a very stable sponge. I'm like one that's been used for way too long and pieces of it are falling off. Yet it still sits in the soap dish by the sink.

 Okay, it's a crappy metaphor but I am going to continue to roll with it. 


Not that everyone asks me to do this. I put myself in this role. Constantly. Maybe it's the mother in me. OR...maybe, if I really want to Dr. Phil this beeotch up, I throw myself into other people's drama and heartache because I don't want to deal with my own.  It's way easier to feel like you are helping someone else deal with something sucky, as opposed to wallowing in self pity or just feeling sad whatever the reason is.

I posted on Facebook today that I felt like I should be in a Cymbalta commercial. Not really expecting a response, just trying to put a little dry humor spin on my horrible mood. I received a response that I actually took to heart.

"Do something different and at a whim. It will remind you that you are still young. We have a bad habit of thinking we are older that we are." 

Well I'll be damned. He's got a point. If you let life get to you it will. Life is a confusing bitch. It throws a lot of things at us that are pretty tough to handle. But we are so quick to age ourselves with worries, stressors, and demands that sometimes we forget to breathe. I am not talking about the involuntary process of breathing we do day in and day out. I am talking about really taking a deep breath, feeling your lungs fill up and truly appreciating what you have. Being impulsive because you have the ability to do so. 

I chewed on that for awhile. Nice reality check and I needed that. 

 If we use the commercial comparisons again I am definitely out of the Cymbalta realm. Not quite tampon commercial happy...but then again who is ever THAT happy. Especially if they need a tampon. That's just weird. 

Did I really just end this semi-serious blog post with a tampon commercial reference? Yes...yes I did. It was an impulsive move.

Creepy Old Guy

February 28th was my last post??? Holy crap. Well, this just proves that the procrastinator in me shines through once again. Or I am just lazy. Whatever. You can't force creativity. Or productivity...judging by the laundry pile sitting in the basket next to me. Sometimes you just have to say, "Nope. Not gonna happen. You, dear basket of laundry, will NOT be folded tonight."

Anyway...back to an actual blog post. My sister and I went out last night. We discovered a band that we could groove our mom thangs to sometime last year and they come to our teeny tiny town about every three months. One of the members of this band created a new band that we, being loyal music supporters, decided to check out. Hence, a mom's night out occurred last night. Who says hence? That was weird. 

You have to first understand that "going out" does not happen often for us. So there is much preparation. Daughter was with grandma so I only had to disappoint Little Dude with the sad news that mommy would not be perched on her usual Friday night spot on the couch. When I told him I was leaving he asked me if I was going to the grocery store. Of course the first thing I thought is, "Yeah right, like I would ever spend time to put on makeup, do my hair, and wear an outfit with a carefully planned shirt to hide the butt crack pants that I had to wear...to go strut my stuff in the dairy aisle." Then, the guilt sets in. Here this innocent four year old is looking at me all sad and wonders if poor mommy has to go out after a long day at work and go grocery shopping. And I am about to head off to a bar to escape all memory of motherhood for a couple hours. I'm a horrible person.


Once I get in the car, (after putting my hood up over my hair that I meticulously spent more then my usual 5 minutes on because it was fricken raining) I finally feel the spirit of freedom. If you don't get out very often like myself then you know what it is like to get into a car by yourself and drive away...jail break! 
Kids Bop CD is demoted and a radio station with suggestive lyrics can blare away since those car seats in the back of the car are EMPTY! YEOWWW lettin' my hair down. So I park the car and wait for my sister. There's a fight brewing down the block somewhere... immediately feel a bit out of my element. Wishing I had some pepper spray. Perfume will do. At least the attacker will smell like vanilla. Sister pulls up. Breathe sigh of relief. Walk to the bar and find an empty table. Sweet the hard part is done! So we thought...within 5 minutes of sitting down some 60+ man asks if he can sit with us. Us, being the incredibly nice people we are say, "Of course!"  As he's downing whiskeys and the table becomes an abyss of awkwardness, Sister and I exchange glances of, "Why US?" Soon the geriatric drunk becomes a bit too inappropriate towards me and I turn bright red, look at Sister, and we scurry off to the place that girls go when things take a turn for the worse...the bathroom. We peek back out the door and...damn it...he is still there at OUR table. Ok. We can do this. We are nice people but can hold our own even while being sickeningly polite.

Get back to the table and the full on COLD SHOULDER is in full play. No eye contact, nor conversation will be made with this sick man. Thankfully, the guitarist of the band we came to see saved the day.  Pretty sure he doesn't know he saved the day...but he did. A conversation between three people ignoring a fourth is usually enough to give the other person THE HINT. Guitarist understands our pitcher of water at the bar as he doesn't drink. Christian values. Married. Has a big family. Can exchange funny stories about our children. THIS is the type of person we gravitate towards. Let this be a note to all CREEPY OLD GUYS!!!  Great conversation ensued until, alas, Guitarist had to perform. Crap. Back to the two nice sisters and the perv creeping around the corner. We are SUNDAY SCHOOL teachers...leave us alone. Or else.

We are not drinking this evening. I asked how much a Red Bull was and about had a heart attack so opted for water. Ok...wait I lied. I had one beer. But you would too if Creepy Old Guy was at your table. Most of the time we like to go and drink our water, dance, and just have a great time. But... it takes a few songs before we are confident in our ability to go out and dance. This time we went out a bit sooner than usual to get away from creepy old guy. Yeah...we get comments all the time about, "What? You go out to the bar and drink water??" Yeah whatever...we feel awesome the next day and you feel like doggie poop. So there. I'm mature. Anyway, we are definitely feeling the band's vibe. Sister and I were concerned when we heard the news that our original beloved band was changing...we have expectations that they must uphold! But, it turns out the new band was fantastic and we could dance just as awesomely bad to this band's music as we could to our other fave band's music. So...win win. Except these bands are now playing back to back weekends and I will feel like a horrible mom again when I sneak out next Friday for another show played by our original favorite band that comes to entertain my teeny tiny town.  Hopefully Creepy Old Guy will not be in attendance. If he is...I will learn to grow some balls. I can't take any more embarrassing awkwardness.

Oh, by the way. Even though we did not drink, if I were to be pulled over on the way home, I am pretty sure my bluff would be called. I probably had a total of 5 drinks spilled on me as "fun loving drunks" stumbled into me on the dance floor. I realize I am being a bit hypocritical venting about this, as I have been in their shoes a time or two. But it's my blog and I can vent hypocritically if I want. Almost cut my toes off on the plethora of broken glass in the corner on the floor. Sister and I played interference with each other as well as other girls on the dance floor from pathetic drunk dudes trying to find anything warm to grind up against. Ugh. Gross. And for the record, "Ballroom Blitz" and Blur's "Song "2 are NOT "bump and grind" tunes. (Is that a thing?)  But...this is our fun. We like good music. We like to dance...we are not good at it but LIKE it damn it! This is what makes all the tantrums and whining we hear on a daily basis tolerable. Our MOM time! We go to listen to music and have a fun time...and usually come back with a story or two. Or a harassment lawsuit. Whatever. It's all worth it in the end.

If you ever get the chance go see Junk Fm or Captain May I. Maybe Creepy Old Guy will sit at your table. Maybe you will punch him. If you do...please make it a point to tell me.