I missed your 100th birthday, my bad

First, two picture, one is of us together, you’re doing your trademark thing and hiding as much of your face as possible in the picture. I’m maybe a year old? The other is the cover of the Betty comic you bought me one of the times I was staying at your apartment and I waited there while you went to the grocery store to buy things to please me. I didn’t know what Betty was, but it seemed okay so I acted like I knew it and acted excited when she said “I got you a Betty.” She got my brother Mad Magazine so we were both happy. 

Well, just like last year on November21st, I was going to write this huge long sentimental blogabout my Grandma, since that’s her birthday. But you know what I failed miserably at that in 2017 and 2018 so I’m going to do it todayto make up for it.

I saw a meme the other day, one of those long ass ones that tells a story, about how when someone dies, they go into spectator mode, like in a video game. So your deceased relatives can watch whatever they want, either POV or from above. At the end of the meme, it showed a Pilgrim-esque looking guy standing behind the meme’s main character with the thought bubble “Holy shit he figured it out.”

IF I could find this meme, I’d fucking show you rather than describing it. But it’s one of those ones I thought I saved, but instead, I didn’t, and it has no relevant keywords. So here we are.

BUT, the spirit of this meme is what interest me. Because. What is that IS true? That’s how it in The Lovely Bones, the dead immediately go into full omniscience.

If that is true….

uh…..

Well, you know what, if the dead do watch us, Lord knows my Grandma has truly been enjoying herself judging me all this time. That’s what she liked to do anyway. I grew up thinking talking shit/criticizing was a completely normal mode of expression.

But also, yeah, I could see why she would choose to watch me and not her daughter, or her grandson. Maybe she spends a lot of time with my cousin’s out west. Both of them married and had children and are normal, successful people with Ph.Ds and houses and etc. etc. They lost their mom young, really unexpectedly, to cancer. I’m related to their dad (Grandma’s other son whose still living, there was a third one, another Uncle, and his death when I was 12 marked the exact end to any semblance of security, stability or happiness in my life. I had 6 more years to get through and my fuck they weren’t easy) and it came as a shock to us all when the drinker/smoker of many decades outlived his wife. He was the only person at my wedding who was related to me who wasn’t my W, my mom or my brother. At our 300 person wedding, FOUR of the guests were my relatives. But I digress.

So, if you’re watching this, well, first of all, things are different now, Grandma. You were born in 1918, you’re not going to understand the world of 2018. And if you don’t want to see a foursome don’t watch a foursome. It’s better than observing mom though, isn’t it? I guess the dead can’t do anything to harm the living…because….if they could, I’d frankly be really angry with my Grandma for not car-accidenting that guy out of our lives.

Well. That’s it. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m pretty preoccupied by the notion that my dead Grandma can see me and is judging me. I mean I don’t care, I’m just saying if SHE could do that, that’s how she would use that ability. But that’s just how she was. I’ve said before how I find it a little hard to criticize even the times she was being horrible, because like, should I find fault with the only reason I’m even a little bit normal? Like whatever part of me wants to fit in and for people to like me…that didn’t come out of nothing. LOOK at my brother. HE’S what happens if someone is over-exposed to W and has no other adult influence. But I spent a ton of time with my mom and Grandma, and my Grandma alone. My brother was taught that W the great I Am and that to even think of listening to someone else, doubting W in the slightest, was a sin on par with damnation.

OH YOU THINK I’M JOKING?

Okay I need to fast forward to the Easter when I was mmmmmm 16. This was when, now that we were teenagers it was 0 hassle to get us up and into church (my mother did this job solo ages 0-15, you know, when there’s work involved in doing so) and suddenly it was life and death importance that we attend his church as well. 1) He started attending a church in a city nearby because his trashy skank coworkers he definitely wanted to fuck and might have at some point (I mean he cosigned on a car with one of them….what does THAT tell you, friends???)

Well I went to a Lutheran high school, so naturally I had Good Friday off from school. W insisted my brother and I go a Good Friday service at his church. His penecostal church. Do you REALIZE what those people are like on Good Friday? AGH, such uncomfortable weirdness.

But of course, when I protested, when I said I didn’t want to go to his church because it made no sense to me that suddenly at 16, despite being a regular attendant of my own church, going to a Lutheran high school, and being an active member of my youth group, I just HAD to start going to HIS church too. Of course his religious bent just works into his narcissism too perfectly, and it was one of the many things he used to put down my mom and I (to a lesser extent). He loved talking shit about that church and how it was (remember this term? I know I’ve told you before) a dead church.

So this GF when I’m 16, he outright asks me, “What’s telling you that you don’t like going to that church?”

As in.

He thinks I was being told, spiritually, by a demon, that I didn’t like that church, because this demon that was allegedly inside me was frightened by the true spiritual power of his superior Pentecostal church. YES. REALLY. That was W’s favorite go-to when you didn’t want to have anything to do with his church.

To him, to his tiny, narrow, tiny, NARROW mind, there could be NO other reason for my not wanting to suddenly be dragged to ANOTHER church. Especially one where I know NO ONE and my dad’s dragging my brother and I along to put on a show for coworkers he’s having shit with or wants to have shit with? LIKE SERIOUSLY. This was my life at 16. Being accused of demon possession because I didn’t want to help my dad nail some skank. Like Jesus fuck. IS IT SURPRISING I have such issues with religion? I mean it feels like I’m going against everything I was ever taught but…JEEZ. Sometimes it feels like you need to? Other times you’re like well there’s no accounting for human error/flaws, and you KNOW W didn’t just come into being one day, that someone whose THAT fucked obviously went through deep trauma himself. Not that that’s enough to like, ever speak to him again, but I’m capable of thinking the thought, at least.

My mom would always hide as much as she could during these exchanges while W had me cornered somewhere, typically my room or the corner of the room he was in if he was awake and not on the toilet, rocking in front of a TV super fucked up and chewing tobacco. Yep. That’s my mental image of my dad. That and him yelling. ANYWAY. My mom would also always just tell me to go along with what W wanted because it made her life easier.

Yep.

And you may be thinking, wow, Cassie, way to go, you turned this tribute post about your Grandma into talking mad shit about W on a different national holiday. Well let me tell you that’s precisely the sort of thing Grandma and I would be talking about if she WERE here, so *tongue sticking out emoji*
I’m going to write and smoke weed all day. At some point we’ll make like bacon and eggs to tide us over. Who the fuck knows when my husband will get up, he went to bed at 5am reeking like vodka. He shaved his pubes in the bathroom sink. I didn’t see him do it, but I can assure you it happened. Oh well. That’s really not that bad it’s just like…okay THIS is why the house can never be up to my personal standards of clean, set by none other than, you guessed it, my Grandma.

I guess my memory palace is mostly just her apartment, then the playground at my grade school in the spring. Then my room when it was filled wall to wall with stuffed animals and Barbies and my Lite Brite and my enormous Fischer Price dollhouse. And I think about her apartment the most. It was like…eerily spotless. The carpet was always perfect. The bathroom was always perfect. I guess I run through the whole place A LOT.

That salmon pink candy dish on the glass and wood end table with the seasonally alternating candies. Root beer barrels. Anise squares. Chocolate peanut clusters. Those squishy pastel after dinner mints. Spice drops. Tiny Reese’s peanut butter cups. Individual Andes mints. It’s strange, for being NOT fat (she was about 5’7” and 140#, so like not a tiny old woman by any means, but she talked about herself like she was 340#, it drove everyone crazy) herself, my Grandma was surely talented at making other people emotionally connect with food. But I also never eat candy. Because it’s bad for your teeth. My teeth need all the help they can get, I can’t control myself from grinding them. I mean I do, but I fucking catch myself doing it all the time. So I can’t be so good then. But, it definitely wore off on my mom. To be certain. When I was a kid, she described overeating after dinner as a “release” I would, years later, realize just how fucked that was of a thing to say. Like. EGH my parents were way too like “Let’s be friends and confidants” with me, and that KIND of fucks up your perception of propriety and boundaries and makes you really grating to some of the other adults in your life, because to them you seem like a petulant, spoiled, arrogant little shit who thinks they can say and do whatever they want as their doormat mother and absent father do nothing. That was a little true, but I don’t think anyone would stop to wonder why my mother and I had that sort of relationship. Plus I was a good kid. I wasn’t fool enough to try and get away with anything under W’s watch, in that tiny house. Besides, I knew I was getting out soon.

It’s it hilarious that I didn’t even like start getting fucked up until I was 21? Like I’d been drunk on rare occasion before then, and I started smoking when I was 19 (weed and cigarettes) but I didn’t start drinking on the reg until I met my husband.
I’m not blaming him, at all.

Because I don’t blame anyone for my actions. Because, that’s stupid. I’m just pointing out these things coincided.

It wasn’t until I started getting fucked up that I realized I could get away from them.

What the sweet fuck does that even mean though?

Like does growing up in a fucked situation make your brain want that feeling, even though it knows it’s bad? Because I fucking promise you, I’m the last person to cause drama. Like. That’s just NOT an activity I participate in. I do everything I can to avoid it, BUT, I’m not great at backing down if I get challenged. I feel a little bit like a proverbial bulldog with something in its jaw in those moments. But anyway.

I think I might just be trying to blame my drinking on my childhood. What shocking, new behavior, for an addict.

Can’t figure out if I’m a sex addict. Probably not? I feel like I’d be getting laid more if I were, right? Pfft.

Just like I tried blaming the fact that I was married and had my side relationship with R happening right at the same time as my final break with my parents. Like I wanted a distraction from thinking about shit, and boy spending three nights a week at his dad’s house was definitely that. And to me the whole time my husband said it was okay, to him the whole time he was begging me to stay and I was doing what I wanted anyway.

Well whatever.

Wow this does not have a Thanksgiving theme to it at all. Sorry, anyone in the festive spirit who reads this. I honestly don’t like this holiday. It’s about “giving thanks” but also overeating and consumerism? Bleh. We’re going to my sister-in-laws. I am not pumped about the email I’ll probably get from my mom on Monday. But that’s awhile from now so whatever.

I was shopping online for Christmas gifts and kind of drunkenly bought myself three pairs of black boots……………whoops. I kind of remembered it this morning and was like…wow Cassie, maybe a bit excessive. But also, they were on hella sale because Black Friday started like a week ago, sale wise. So whatever. I went on innocently enough to get a scarf to match my new coat with rewards I’d earned from buying the coat. But, alcohol. So three pairs of boots, a hat/glove set, a velour/sherpa scarf and moisturizer later….i was done. But I also finished my best friend’s birthday and Christmas shopping too, so, actual gift buying also happening.

Jeez, I sound like I have a shopping problem. Well going shopping and eating were the two joys in life, so my Grandma taught me. So maybe I’m more like her than I realize. Plus I don’t do this often. Of course I earned another reward..so….we’ll see….I WISH I had a fucking reason to need sexy lingerie. Younger Cassie would be distraught over how far my undie situation has fallen. I mean for one, I weigh a great deal more than I did when I was 21, so the all Victoria’s Secret collection I had going pretty much all had to go, a loooong time ago. I used to always be wearing matching underwear/bra. Now, the only time that happens is when they’re both black, which is likely, because black is practical when you’re me and pretty much only wear black clothing. The underwear I brought out of special hiding to wear that one Saturday back in October worked their way into the normal rotation but now when I wear them I’m like….well some luck you were. Not that I really believe in having “lucky” objects, I’m really not superstitious. I own a book entitled The Encyclopedia of Superstition, but never mind all that. That was a Barnes and Noble find when I was a child, that had a spooky dust jacket that I threw out because it scared me more than once at night. I’m actually proud I kept it all this time. My copy of Homeless Bird, my SIGNED copy, was water damaged from my transporting it to and from work for Halloween. That made me sad.

Okay. This has been a WEIRD blog post. Enjoy your holidays, and your families, if you are so inclined. Just because I seem to sneer at “normal” people doesn’t mean I don’t get why it’s fun to be normal. I just…hate football, and the Pilgrims were murderers, and turkey tastes like napkins. That last part is a Brooklyn 99 quote, before I get sued.

Well, enjoy your long weekends. Fuck knows I am. Yesterday I got the hashtags of death with my book. I corrupted the file of it I had on my laptop beyond repair. BUT, I had it on a flash drive, so all was not lost. I need to buy Microsoft Word. Yeah I get I know I bought all the boots, but that was with a store charge (duh). I need cold hard cash for Word. I refuse to use “real” credit cards. Store charges make it worth your while, and honestly buying small increments of make up and work clothing isn’t SO bad, now is it? Anyway.

I need to get back to my real writing, that I now back up A LOT more frequently. I spent 1pm-4pm yesterday BARELY holding my shit together. Like just barely. But it’s all good now. Yet again, my worst freak out recently has been over nothing. Which is funny, because I DON’T freak out over the shit I should. Soooo funny how that works….ahhhhhh.

When this new insurance from my husband’s new job kicks in, we’re both looking into therapy, don’t worry.

Peace.

~Cassie

I should be editing, but here I am on effing WordPress

Not complaining, just kind of annoyed with how my mind works. I was all pissy last weekend because the holiday ruined my ability to get any writing done OR go to pole class, so that was a bummer. (Speaking of pole – I now have one installed in my living room! I am SURE I will post pictures later, but this is going to be a more depressing blog, because, IDK it’s been awhile, I’m not just sex stories and weird shit and selfies and pot and pole dancing and writing a weird sex novel. I mean in large part that is a bunch of my personality, but that is definitely not all. I’m also severely addicted to caffeine, but that, to me, is almost like a wholesome addiction, given what I’ve done in the past) But now instead of using my entirely free Saturday to input on-paper edits (the ones I do in my car, that I KNOW you remember from my other post WordPress is clearly for selfies)

But, instead I got like a little too high, now I’m like lost in thought and it’s hard to read TINY print. Why did I use 12 size font. I mean I know why, it’s so I can be arrogant about it. But I’m still annoyed.

Okay I thought of what my worst trait is. It’s actually not the many, sundry emotional problems, it’s my inability to manage fucking money. Like. I’m very confused as to what I’ve been doing wrong, but I clearly an see that it’s something. It’s kind of my special brand of pathetic, but sometimes I mentally console myself with the idea that it’s probably for the best I’m not pregnant yet, because we really don’t have the money. But, on the other hand, I really don’t think I should let the fear of debt stop me. I didn’t with school, and now look where I am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am so significantly happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. To be honest, things weren’t really all that good with my husband until we both stopped drinking…and that was only like two years ago, and we’ve been together for 9 (in July).

I just feel like if I could somehow not be in debt and actually like have my shit together enough to own a house and a car that isn’t ten years old. But whatever, my car from 2008 still runs fine, and it was a gift from my Grandma, she just paid outright for it, with a check. And, if I did get pregnant, my mother in law already offered to pay for our day care, because she didn’t want fear of not having money to stop us from having kids, because we’d be great parents.

So that’s what I actually wanted to write about. Did you catch that I just described too monumentally generous older women in my life? Like. I mean. Sometimes you have to see God where you can, right? And I’ve had two great trading-outs in my life. One was when my best friend moved from our hometown to a city about two hours away to attend state school. I knew she was leaving, and about two months before she left I met my future husband, indirectly through my best friend. Then, pretty shortly after we met, we were dating, and I met my future mother in law. My Grandma died when I was 23, I think. Right after her 93rd birthday. I’ll be honest, at this point in my life I was just finished with undergrad and had a really severe drinking and adderoll and cigarette issue. I was so damn skinny. God I miss that. But not the other parts. And, the day she died, I was really strung out and fucked up, and when my mom called to tell me what happened (we’d all been expecting it….in fact, the reason I didn’t go see my Grandma right before she died is because I didn’t believe my POS dad when he told me she was dying because he’d literally said that about 40 times before in the past three years. My mom was always so disgusted with him during any of those given times, as my Grandma’s health got worse and she went from in-home care to a nursing home to a memory care nursing home, because he would seem downright excited) she didn’t ask me to come over. And I was glad, because my car had a flat tire and my then boyfriend and I were too drunk to deal with it.
Well, as you can tell, all of those were wrong moves. i see that, but you’ve got to understand a few things, this is MY family. not a stable, normal, functional family. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly, but this was either right before or right after the FIRST time I tried not speaking to my dad. I know it was during the three year stretch we lived at this white trash apartment complex behind the mall in my husband’s hometown. I am currently in the midst of my second and actual attempt at cutting all ties with him.

So  I do find it interesting when my best friend and my husband like traded out, like almost in a comically obvious fashion. Then, my whole childhood, the only reason I ever had anything extra (so, things beyond the minimal amount of clothing necessary to live and a place to live and food to eat and being sent to school) had to come from my Grandma. She paid for all for my homecoming and prom dresses. She bought me a computer when I was in high school…you know…the one my dad threatened to destroy with a hatchet, mostly out of infantile jealousy?
Then, when my Grandma was in a very expensive nursing home and all of her money was gone and she had to move to a few different shitty ones at the end of her life, I met my husband’s mom. Because he lived at home when we met, I actually met his parents like the second time I ever hung out with him. I remember quite distinctly that his dad was delighted with the idea that I’d gone to a Lutheran high school. I was like…well…guess I get some benefit out of that awful experience.

And  my mother in law has been my sole source of clothing and shoes, for the most part, since I’ve met her. She routinely takes my husband and I on a big shopping trip, usually about twice a year. Last time, there were 6 new pairs of shoes. Other times, it’s a new batch of work clothing. She’s unbelievably generous. I was raised way too white trash to be that kind of generous, with people I know, myself. I have a few charities in mind for if I ever make real money as a writer. I mean it’s possible. There’s a vacuum I can fill, I just know it. But anyway.

I’m not trying to brag, obviously. That is literally never my goal. I mean when I try and talk about things i like about myself or my life, it’s really me doing everything I can to not be negative or depressive or complain or whine. Because I seriously fucking hate it when other people do those things.

Which brings me to my favorite charities, as of right now – There’s Free the Girls. They enable women in developing nations (like I know Guatemala was one of them…then I think definitely also some in Africa? I don’t feel like fact-checking) who have been rescued from sex trafficking to run their own business. Women in this country donate bras, and the other women sell them. I cannot explain to you why, but there’s this one like info-mercial about FTG and it ALWAYS makes me cry. A lot. Thinking about it makes me cry. I literally do not understand this trigger, but I really am aware of it.

And the other is called Shakespeare Behind Bars. I get annoyed when I tell people about it, because the name makes most idiots laugh. But it’s a program that has inmates in male prisons put on productions of Shakespeare once a year. It’s open to the public, in the sense that you can apply for a ticket and undergo a background check and attend if there’s enough space. My husband and I are going this year. I got the email that enrollment was open, and they’re doing A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream this year, and I was like meeehhhhh I really want to go, to my husband, and he was like…well we can probably make it happen…. So fuck it why not.

Which I guess that ties in with my first stated issue of knowing my worst flaw is how bad I am with money. Because if I have one element to my personality, it’s a total “fuck it” vibe towards spending money. I mean that’s why we’re trying to have a kid, despite our sort-of financial dependence on his parents. Which feels insane that that even has to happen, because we make a collective $40,000 ish last year. Does that NOT sound like enough for two people to live on? But no, seriously, it’s not somehow. IDK. I’m aware you can pay for advice on this sort of thing. We have Quicken once, I did not like using it. All it did was point out where we spent all of our money. Like I know, I just feel like I can’t control it from happening.

But, anyway. We’re growing our own green now. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous. It’s a very small grow, obviously, because our rented house is tiny. Renting a 3 bedroom where we live is $910 a month. Do you realize what kind of mortgage payment that would be? BUT, what are we supposed to do, pull a down payment out of nowhere? We can’t ask his parents for THAT kind of $$, we already ask for enough, on top of the things they give us on their own, which is a lot. It’s ALWAYS been a make enough to just get  by situation. And now, it’s been years since we stopped wasting a ton on beer, and booze, and cigarettes, and I constantly drank soda, like I would stop at a convenience store a few times a day for one. So disgusting. Now I’m all about black coffee and La Croix, because I’m old and need to watch calories. But anyway.  AND we’ve gotten WAY better at not eating out, or getting fast food. We almost always eat dinner at home, with things purchased from a grocery store. I’m gotten VERY good at feeding us cheaply, but still pretty healthily. Speaking of health, I’ve FINALLY started losing weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned a few dozen times how my old drinking habits did not mix well when I finally got a desk job. I gained at least 30 pounds that first year. It was terrible. Again, I’m lucky my mother in law buys me clothing, because I went through a huge fluctuation from my earlier years of shopping with her. But, I am finally starting to lose that weight.

TO that end, like i said at the beginning, yes, we have a stripper pole now, okay, I cannot resist a pic, especially since the living room gets good morning light. IMG_9251

Yeah, we had to put it in our living room because that’s the only spot with the most space.

And guess what. My husband was INSTANTLY really good at pole. He can climb, already. He could do every spin I could remember how to show him. It’s because he’s so obsessed with pull ups, and doing shit like climbing trees or brick walls for fun. Pole is pretty much a rope to climb, but you can have a lot more fun with it. He can’t Iron-X off the bat but he’ll get there, I’m sure. I’m so jealous. Like if he went to class, he would show me up so hard on his first day. He really likes it, which I find funny.

So, IDK, maybe we’ll move back up north and open a pole studio. He DID take eight years of dance class. If I was working full time at a regular job and insuring us, I think we could handle running the studio. If it was profitable enough, we could both work there full time. I just know this whole situation we’ve got going on right now is kind of lame. Plus my husband has always struggled so much with finding a well-paying job that he doesn’t detest.

So maybe I’ll be writing a novel and dedicating a lot of time to pole fitness. There’s enough tutorials online, and now I have a pole at home, and a really in shape spotter.

That’s one thing…his job right now is really grueling, and it involves 4 months of being laid off in the winter, but he is SO cut from it. Like it’s weird being like…wow, that’s my husband’s body. He’s getting like PERFECT ab definition. It’s not fucking shock he’s so good at pole, right away, like first time he tried. And I mean, he was just rail-skinny when we met, then he got REALLY overweight for awhile there. He trimmed down for the wedding but I remember the picture of him from the night he proposed his face looked faaaaaat. I’m not being mean, I would totally say that to him and he wouldn’t be offended. He knew how big he’d gotten. And I mean, the way he is now is obviously nicer. What can I say. But now I’m like….thank God I’m so facially attractive, or people might wonder why he and I are together when we’re out in public.

But anyway, I’ve wasted quite enough time on this.

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie