3 Islands, 1 Day: A St. John Adventure

So I have this friend who is definitively spontaneous. She is one of the most incredible human beings I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. We went to breakfast the other day near the seaplane dock in town, and she looks at me and says, "Hey, you wanna go to St. John for the day?" I laughed quickly and then looked at her and realized she was 100% serious. So we walked over there after breakfast, and we realized that we were sorta too late to do it that day since King had to work later in the afternoon...and decided we do it a couple days later instead. 

One thing I love about her is that she just has this zest for life and completely embodies the spirit of "tomorrow is not promised" and "carpe diem". She definitely encourages me to do one thing that scares me every day. Have you heard of that phrase? Well, I really thought I wasn't afraid of much, but this adventure was definitely within that realm. I mean, it's not like we went skydiving or anything, but since becoming a mother, I've been a lot less likely to take any sort of risks. So yes, I definitely did something a bit scary and went island hopping for the day!

The photo below is not a picture of a toy. It is an actual airplane. That I rode. When we walked out onto the tarmac I was looking at it going, "this is not for real. Is that thing remote controlled? I mean, can you fit actual humans in that thing?" Spunky is a bit of a nervous flier, though, so I pushed all that fear aside and decided it was totally 100% safe. Not only that, it can fit up to 10 actual humans! 

The mandatory pre-take-off airplane selfie. 

Two other people joined us on our flight to St. Thomas (there is no airport on St. John), one of them being Donastorg, who is a gubernatorial candidate for the upcoming election here in the US Virgin Islands. He had brought a super adorable puppy with him, but he wasn't allowed to bring him aboard due to the fact that he was not in a proper carrier. Fortunately, Mr. Donastorg has plenty of associates who were able to make sure that the puppy was in good hands while he traveled.  

 Flying in a turbo prop is a bit different than flying on a commercial jet! It may have been a bit scary, but the views are unmatched! This is the view as we were coming into St. Thomas.

Our pilot from Cape Air was such a sweetheart! He did a great job making sure that we were comfortable and safe, and he didn't bat an eye when we asked for a photo op at the end of our journey! He thought he was going to be flying us back to St. Croix later that day, but unfortunately he was done for the day when we went back.

Being the perfect Gubernatorial Candidate, Mr. Donastorg offered to pose for a photo with us as well. AND when he realized that we were looking to get a gypsy cab into Red Hook to catch the ferry, he offered to give us a ride out to the main road. A classic taxi would have cost us a considerable amount of money, as opposed to the $2 gypsy cab ride. His driver's music choice was a bit...odd (gangster rap?)...but they were both very kind and hospitable and helped get our adventure off to a great start! 

We had to walk a bit to catch a cab, but that just added to the adventure! I really like the idea of the gypsy cabs. They are open air cabs that have plenty of seating for lots of people. They run one main route around the island, and they are really affordable. It's a simple $2 charge per ride! We went all the way from Charlotte Amalie to Red Hook, which would have cost us $30 for a classic cab.  

The ride across St. Thomas definitely affected me in an unexpected way. I was very overwhelmed with how busy it is there. When I say busy, I mean crowded. And when I say crowded, I am not just talking about people. There was only one cruise ship docked that day, but o.m.g. There were just countless amounts of buildings and vehicles and shopping centers and people and noises and restaurants and...just A LOT. I didn't even realize that I had become very anxious until Spunky asked me if I was okay because I had gotten incredibly quiet. I assured her that I was just fine, but I didn't even realize that I was most definitely NOT fine until later. In moving to St. Croix, I have learned to live on island time. Life is slower, it's more relaxed. It's quieter and not nearly as busy as anywhere else on Earth. So that gypsy cab ride across a very bustling island was not my favorite part of our little adventure!

Once we arrived at Red Hook, we were starving. Rather than hurry to catch the next ferry to St. John, we decided to relax (MUCH NEEDED) for a moment, catch our breath, and have breakfast at Molly Malone's. This place was just what we needed. The service was fast, the food was reasonably priced and yummy, and how can you beat BOTTOMLESS bevies for $12?!?! The only thing I could really pout about was that I had 3 Bloody Mary's and a mimosa and didn't feel the least bit tipsy. So let's remember they're bottomless for a reason ;) The drinks were still tasty, though! 

Here we are on the ferry from Red Hook to St. John. The best part about this ferry ride was that it was open air (errr..water?) and so we got SOAKED once the boat picked up to full speed out in the open water.

 Above is where the ferry drops off at St. John in Cruz Bay. It's an amazing view, and it definitely sets the bar pretty high as far as beautiful scenery. Right off the boat, there were open air cabs waiting to take everyone to their beach of choice ---well, unless you want to go to the other side of the island in Coral Bay (which we found out later). We decided to hang out in Cruz Bay for a bit and to poke around at Mongoose Junction to see what all the shops had to offer. I really loved the "tree house" feel of this eclectic little shopping area. There were plenty of shops to explore ranging from budget bargains all the way up to luxury splurges. So it is a great little spot for everyone!

We grabbed a quick bevy (classic rum punch) at Ocean Grill, and I must say that it wasn't my favorite drink on island (small size and had a major bite). They did have a nice selection of different specialty drinks, including rum-tinis, which might have been fun if we had more time to spend there. The atmosphere there was cute, but there wasn't much of a view, being that it is right in the center of the shopping area.

 After our mini shopping excursion, we decided to hop into one of the cabs and check out Cinnamon Bay, where we were thinking we might stay for a girls' trip later this summer. The cab ride is $7/pp if you have more than one person, $6/pp if you are going to Trunk Bay. We had a very charismatic cabby, and I really do think it made a big difference! We couldn't really understand much of what he was saying over the speaker, but he had a wealth of knowledge about the island and gave us a mini-tour while we were en route to Cinnamon Bay. This little ride was one of the best parts about the adventure! The views are incredible, and it's fun to share a ride with random people! It definitely had the feeling of being on a safari ride at an amusement park, but it was MUCH more beautiful than any amusement park I've ever been to!

Cabby view from above Trunk Bay

Cabby view of the beach at Trunk Bay

After a quick recon mission at Cinnamon Bay, we decided that it might not be for us. It's part of the National Park, and Cinnamon Bay is one of the longest stretches of beach on St. John. However, the cabins we were thinking about renting were in quite a state of disrepair (think rat-chewed mattresses and ripped bug screens), and the restaurant was buffet style, open air in the middle of the woods..nowhere near the beach. We are quite spoiled here in St. Croix in that nearly (if not) all of the resort restaurants are located just steps from the beach with sweeping views of the Caribbean Sea.

We then decided to ask our cabby if he might take us down to Concordia in Saltpond Bay, and we were rather disappointed when he told us that it wouldn't be in the cards. "I don't know if I can do that today," he said. It is quite far from where we were, and I suppose he had the potential to make more money by shuffling tourists to and from the ferry dock instead. This goes back to what I mentioned earlier about cabbies offering to take you to your beach of choice (with an asterisk). Coral Bay is on the opposite side of the island, and I am told that it is more eclectic and rural than the Cruz Bay area. 

Since we were rather disappointed at Cinnamon Bay, we decided to head back to Cruz Bay and check out a cute little bar that we saw on the way in: 

The Beach Bar.

The Beach Bar is where we spent the majority of our time, and I'm not even the least bit mad about it. The atmosphere was very relaxed and also very hip at the same time. We noshed on some crab wontons (reminiscent of crab rangoon) and fish tacos while sipping on a frozen bevy (BBC for me, and Lime in da Coconut for Spunky) and enjoying some amazing people watching! The food was really good, and the drinks were great as well. The staff was super friendly, and they didn't hesitate in offering us some insider tips for our upcoming girls' trip. They have a cute little surf shop that is attached to the restaurant with super friendly staff there as well.

 The people watching was definitely my favorite thing about The Beach Bar, though, next to the amazing view of the harbor. There was a fun group of tourists from Texas that had just arrived and were kind enough to take our photo! One of the girls was really adorable and jumped into the water and exclaimed, "What have we been doing with our lives?!" And then she took her swimsuit top off and invited us to join her for a swim. 

Please note: it is not a great idea to swim in an area where lots of boats are anchored. The water is not very clean! We decided not to join her, but we did enjoy watching their group have a great time!

 We decided we should probably venture out and see another place before we had to ferry back to St. Thomas to catch our evening flight, and so we asked one of the guys at the surf shop attached to The Beach Bar where we definitely should not miss going. At his recommendation, we went to Woody's for Happy Hour!

 This place was definitely a must see if you are looking for a great party spot. This year's Virgin Islands Daily News winner of Most Entertaining Bar did not disappoint! The bartenders were gorgeous (girls), the drinks were cheap ($1 beers for happy hour!), and the music (country) was loud! Our pick for favorite drink was the "Stiff Willy," which is a rum concoction of sorts. Yum. And since the theme of the day had been eating (well, and boozing), we couldn't leave without trying a couple appetizers. I had the grilled scallops (AMAZING) and Spunky ordered the poppers: also great, but beware the "molten" cheese, as described by our bartender, Becca. 

By the end of the day, we were both sufficiently exhausted and ready to make our way back to St. Croix. We had so many laughs, so much food, and more drinks than we could count on our fingers. 

I think the funniest (and scariest) part of our trip, though, was our cab ride back to the airport in St. Thomas. We took a traditional cab this time so we could get there more quickly (we took a later ferry from STJ because we were having so much fun at Woody's), and it was not uneventful! Our cabby was quiet, and we were super loud. Well, we're both a bit loud by nature, but our cabby kept turning up the radio. I'm not even sure if Spunky noticed it, but I got a good chuckle out of that. So, we got to a stoplight about maybe 10 minutes or less from the airport when I saw smoke coming from what could be the hood of our cab. I asked, "Umm, that smoke isn't coming from OUR car, right?!" He assured me that it was coming from the big truck that we were next to while at the stoplight. Well, a couple of lights later he laughed and said, "ooohhh, that is my car!" OMG. I about lost it, and Spunky was laughing. I was just wringing my hands and shaking my leg...PLEASE let us make it to the airport alive...and ON TIME!!! I can't tell you what the hell was wrong with dude's cab, but I can tell you that we made it to the airport safely and with plenty of time to catch our flight back home. 

We had such a fabulous time together, and I can't wait for our next adventure!

Why Do Fools (Codependents) Love Their (Narcissist) Moms?

I'm so thankful for Google, I swear. I think I'm almost as thankful for Google as I am that I ever called McHottie's office number.

So, this crazy thing happened (Shocking, I know). Okay, bear with me here while I give you a pretty substantial amount of backstory, seeing as how I haven't written in awhile again.

Mamabear moved to our peaceful little island in December. Okay, well, maybe not entirely peaceful -but way less turbulent than our lives were Stateside. Anyway, we knew it was going to be...stressful, living with Mamabear. However, she really wanted to move right away (read: jump ship), and so we welcomed her with open arms. Well, I mean, we were hopeful that she would hold true to her word that she was uber-missing her grandbabies, and she wanted to help King and I reconnect (we had quite a bit of trauma involving Aunt Trip last summer).

From a couple of days in, we knew it wasn't going to be like...you know, a picnic on the beach or anything. However, I had hoped that gentle coaching (as opposed to my usual bluntness) would help her see that her Stateside behavior/habits just weren't going to be acceptable here. The high level of expectations (What's for dinner? What are the plans today? Are there any clean towels? I'm really going to need help acquiring transportation aside from this short term rental... It's absolutely mandatory that I shop on Christmas Eve!), the overuse of limited resources (ie. water & electricity), among other things were just the beginning of the challenges. After several attempts at 'big talks,' in which I attempted to impress upon her that she was being rather selfish & unrealistic (without damaging her fragile ego), I gave up entirely. I felt that I was wasting time and precious oxygen, and I really thought (foolishly) that I could just let it go. Really though, I wasn't letting go of anything. I was letting everything fester.

A few days prior to my "ah-ha moment" (which I am leading up to), I had asked her to watch the girls for a bit (an hour, to be exact) so that I might go down the road to enjoy a cocktail and catch up with some friends. I came home around 7:30pm to find my youngest asleep, my eldest awake (thankfully, quietly watching Netflix) and Mamabear passed out in my bed -mouth open and snoring. A few seconds later (maybe 30?) she said, "Boo!" and tried to pass it off as though she was only pretending to sleep. I didn't even acknowledge it. I said nothing, but I was determined not to leave them with her again. This was at least the 3rd time I had come home to her not taking care of my children in some form or fashion.

Fast forward to what started out as a most promising, beautiful Sunday on the beach, complete with good friends, food, and drinks (yes, the adult variety). We had been having such a great time that King decided he would take the Jeep back to Mamabear at work (it was time for him to go in, and she had finished up). She could then bring the Jeep back to the beach and join us (We had been sharing a vehicle since she moved down).

Something set me off. I am not exactly sure what, as my memory from the time she arrived at the beach until much later that night has failed me. From the accounts of my friends who were there, she was "stewing" while sitting on the beach watching the rest of us have a good time in the water. I then became belligerent, and it was time to go. I didn't want to go home, but my friends advised me that it was not a good idea to leave the girls alone with her again, though that would have given me the time I needed to cool down. That left me in quite the predicament, right? Go home knowing I'm unbelievably angry and likely face confrontation...or leave my girls with someone who provides about as much care for them as my animals could. I rode back home with my friends, while the girls rode back with Mamabear.

When we arrived home, I remember repeatedly telling her she needed to get out of my house. I also remember her repeatedly denying my requests. I have also been recounted this story by my friend (we'll call her Jane) who was present. Jane decided to get the girls showered, and in that time frame, I ended up on my back with Mamabear on top of me, repeatedly bashing my head into the tile floor and striking me in the face. I don't remember most of it...I do remember crying for Jane...I am eternally grateful that she was there. If not for her, I'm not sure I'd even be writing this entry right now (or ever). In the end, I looked like I have been feeling all these years -a human punching bag. Jane believes that I must have lost consciousness at some point. I couldn't say honestly whether I did or did not. All I know is that no one deserves to be treated in such a way, no matter how 'drunk' or 'unreasonable' she may be.

I spent several days in my house due to unrelenting migraines and swelling and bruising that could never have been covered with any amount of makeup. Truthfully, I should have gone to the hospital. She went to work the next day (after having been nearly forcibly removed from our home by King) with a few scratches and a bruise on her arm and made sure that everyone she encountered knew that it was because of my belligerence and unprovoked attack on her. She told people that she suspected that I had been using illegal drugs (she even accused me directly of this). She told others that I am an alcoholic and also that I shouldn't be drinking in combination with my (imaginary) anti-depressants. She then (of course) vehemently denies saying any of it and has blamed "the unreliable coconut telegraph" for the exaggerated misinformation.

It must be noted that I do not believe I am without fault here. I know that I acted completely irrationally and out of turn. I know that I completely lost control of my anger and acted inappropriately. I am quite sure there was a better time and place to handle my issues, and obviously there must be a better way to communicate apart from a violent confrontation. However, I did not use any illegal substances, nor did I misuse any prescription medications, as I am not currently prescribed any. I am absolutely at fault for my actions and sorry for the way I behaved.

It must also be noted that she has apologized for hurting me, but that apology is not without an asterisk. She has pleaded with me to understand that she would not have hurt me so badly had she not been provoked by me and had I not 'attacked' her 'out of nowhere'. So while she is sorry, I am still at fault for her inappropriate display of anger toward me. She also wholeheartedly denies that I had a concussion and insists that my memory loss is due 100% to my level of intoxication. Along with that, she does not believe she has gossiped to anyone about the incident.

Whatever the case, no one deserves what happened to me -no one. And there is absolutely no justification for this woman's actions...unless she's a Narcissist.

This brings me to Google. I didn't even use the word. I asked the question, "why does my mother lie to me?" Once I got past all of the "Santa Claus" nonsense, I came across the very accusatory term: Narcissist. I didn't think it was possible because of how 'fragile' and 'sensitive' she is. I swear it never even crossed my mind, but it's the only thing that makes any sense.

I read the first article, and it was like someone finally turned the lights on in my head. Nearly every single point was describing my mother and my childhood. And I have been the perfect codependent child. It's quite disturbing, really. However, at the same time as being entirely disturbing, it was nice for things to begin to add up properly. I just kept shaking my head and laughing hysterically at myself, as article after article kept pointing to the same thing...My mother is a narcissist. 

I even went back and read some of my earlier blog entries and realized that I have been protecting her this entire time, making sure not to damage her fragile and sensitive ego. Meanwhile, she has played me for a fool...a pawn on her chessboard of life. I am only as good as I am useful in making her feel better about herself. I am just a trophy on a shelf for her to polish and, within it, admire herself. For 30 years, I have played into her hands and she has been my puppet master.

I guess the long and short of things here is that through this terrible tragedy, I have learned a great deal. I have learned that it's time to get back onto that green (or blue) sofa. My work in therapy is clearly not finished, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. At least there's a light. I have learned (yet again) that I'm really not as crazy as my parents (well, my entire family really) would like me to believe. I have learned that you can't just let go of things that require reparations. I have learned that it's not worth sacrificing oneself for a superficial relationship with a parent who is incapable of reciprocating authentic love.

So, all in all, I suppose getting smacked upside the head actually did do me a bit of good...

~~~If you suspect that one (or both) of your parents may be Narcissistic, I highly recommend reading~~~

Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life

Will I Ever Be Good Enough?: Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers 

The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists: Coping with the One-Way Relationship in Work, Love, and Family

The Best Laid Plans Go To St. Croix

I seriously need to read my own blog more often. Well, and also I should probably write more. Yesterday, someone asked me what I do to relax, and I had to ask King to be able to answer. I have no idea. I have spent the last several months running nonstop, preparing for a move, moving, settling, scrambling to pay bills, trying to network, take care of children, and maintain a social life (WHAT?!).

I just went back and read my last entry, and I am so glad that I did. It was perfect timing. Sometimes we all need a little inspiration and a kick in the ass. I'm there. So, since I've been neglecting everyone since MARCH(?!?!), I shall give you an update.

In March, we had decided to move in 12 months. As some of the best laid plans do, this one went astray...all the way to St. Croix. So I suppose this plan didn't so much go astray as it did go into hyper-drive. Regardless, lots of things have happened since then: good, bad, and who-gives-a-damn kinda things.

I visited this island paradise in April, and it was love at first sight. I was so enamored, in fact, that I didn't want to leave. I did, though, and I told King when I stepped off the plane in Indy that we were going to move sooner. We moved June 1st, 2013, and there is no looking back. There is only looking forward...to the ocean, to the sunsets, to the cheap rum(!), and to all the amazing experiences that we have each day.

The people here are so different than anywhere else. Is there drama? Of course! No place would be complete without a little storyline, right? What is here, though, that you don't find stateside is unconditional generosity and love. I'm not sure this place is overly religious or anything, but the golden rule here is to love thy neighbor...and his neighbor, and his brother's neighbor...aww, hell....just love everybody! And buy he a next one, irie? (That's Crucian speak for: and buy him another drink, all right?) We bought a car, and it broke down after a couple months of being here. Someone that we barely knew offered to allow us to use his vehicle while we were waiting to fix ours because he had three and only needed two. That's just ONE example. It is ingrained in the culture here to protect and help one another, to be there for each other, and just to simply love.

Anyway, I haven't seen McHottie since just before we moved (sigh). I miss him. I miss his encouraging words, his comfy sofa, and his ability to make me see through the crazy in my life. However, crazy has most definitely taken a backseat, as it tends to do when you are thousands of miles away from it. I still have moments where I'm sad, where I feel like I have a hole in my heart, but those moments seem to be fewer and further between. The hole is being filled by friends, my true family here, those who know where my heart is.

I seriously cannot believe it is October, though. Time flies when you're having rum? Kidding, I usually drink beer anyway. Maybe I can't believe it's October because it's still 90 degrees here everyday? No matter what the reason, though, we are coming into "season" here, which means that business will be coming back to life, and the beaches will be blanketed with ghostly (and conversely, lobstered) tourists.

I wish I had a love story to share, but, alas, I do not...Hopefully that is on the horizon, though. Until next time, I'll leave you with some pix!

Sunset at Chenay Bay

The Tide Pools at Carambola 

Lunch on the Boardwalk at Rum Runners

My Princess with Chuck Wicks at Divi Carina Bay

Girls Playing at sunset on the beach at Tamarind Reef

Perfectionism At Its Finest

I love therapy. I know you've never ever heard me say this. In all actuality, you will probably never hear me say it (errr...write it) again. McHottie makes me tingle in ways every man who has ever been with me (or wanted to be with me) probably WISHES he could make me tingle. That's how amazing he is...at therapizing me. To note: the sofa is now navy blue.

I'm supposed to be talking to myself these days now...more than usual...different than the usual, I suppose. I am supposed to be working on convincing myself that everyone in my life who has been close to me for most (or all) of my life is wrong. To quote: "Your father's abandonment...your mother's criticism...your sister's sense of entitlement and competition...Those things have no bearing on your daily life." I have to push everything that I've been told aside and, instead, focus on what I know to be true in my heart. *Ahem* What I know to be true (apparently, somewhere deep down) is that I am fucking awesome, basically. I'm seriously laughing as I type this, though, because I am not sure where exactly that deep down place is.

I've been taught to find imperfections in everything I do: my house is messy, my kids are undisciplined, I have no college degree, I have no job, no direction. I'm divorced. I was kicked out of the Coast Guard. I'm certifiably insane. I have at least 3 gray hairs, I have expression lines in my forehead...I am mean to my husband, I can't bake, I'm an alcoholic (though non-practicing)...I have shitty credit...A couple of my back molars are slightly crooked. My ears are oddly small. I have a flair for the dramatics and, in fact, I purposely seek out drama. I'm narcissistic. I'm fat. I'm a liar. I manipulate people. I have a "Princess Complex" (whatever that means). The list goes on, I'm quite sure. The closest people in your life are the ones with the power to hurt you the most. They know the buttons so well that they can push them even while texting and driving. It's that easy.

The funny (horrifying?) thing is that all of the things that I listed above are things that are true and/or things that I've been told by various members of my family. I'm not even sure that these people meant to hurt me, or definitely didn't mean to inflict nearly as much damage as they have over the years. I don't think these people really thought about how the things they said could (did) affect me. McHottie tells me that I have all the right tools to believe in myself, be successful and happy and healthy, and yet...I can't manage to get there. It's like I have all the tools to fix myself, and I have no idea how to use them. Someone needs to give me an instruction manual for this shit. Seriously.

People see a false sense of confidence in me whenever I compliment myself or talk about how awesome I am. It's like I'm talking to myself, trying to make myself believe what I'm saying...but really, it's total bullshit. When someone compliments me, it makes me feel uncomfortable...and I'm not sure how to react. I mean, it's one of two ways: you're lying, but thanks for trying to make me feel better... ~or~ I know, right?! I mean, I guess the normal reaction to a compliment is to thank the person...but I'm so accustomed to waiting for the "but" at the end of the compliment that it seems like the person isn't finished.

Example: "You are so beautiful..." but your ears are a bit small. <---see?? So I'm kind of always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it probably sounds crazy, but I swear to you it's true. There is always a "but" in my family.

So, NOW when someone compliments me (because it does happen quite often, actually), I need to learn to say "thank you" externally and via my internal monologue say, "you're damn right, biatch!" It's funny that I am laughing as I type. The thought of telling myself that I am a good person kinda cracks me up. I shouldn't have to do it. I shouldn't have to feel more like a crazy person by talking to myself in order to feel less like a crazy person who has no self-worth. Alas, my world is full of ironic twists, isn't it? McHottie says to talk to myself. He says to tell myself that I am a good person. I am fair. I am forgiving. I am worthy. I am beautiful. I am talented. <---already feeling like a Narcissist. <---Shut up, asshole. McHottie told you to do this. (see my inner conflict here?)
 
It's interesting to me that I am so careful about what I say and the things that I do now, though. I'm so calculated because I care deeply about the people in my life. I care about how I make them feel. I even care about people that I don't know in that I have a sense of responsibility to humanity as a whole. King tells me that the way that I view the world, though, isn't how everyone else does. In fact, it is apparently not how most people view others. I told him that I think it's so much harder to be an asshole than it is to be a good person. It's so easy for me to love. It's easy for me to reach out to people, make friends, do nice things, and take care of people. It makes me feel amazing inside and out. Conversely, I feel like absolute shit if I am nasty to someone just for the sake of being nasty. That's not to say that I can't get mean (because my blog is living proof that I can, when necessary), but it takes more effort...a LOT more effort.

I guess I just wish that my family viewed the world the way that I do. I wish they would see the beauty in the world, instead of the imperfections. I wish they would see how much I have done with my life, rather than what I wasn't able to do or didn't finish. I wish they would see the things that McHottie sees in me...I wish they would see the things King sees. In fact, I wish I could see those things. I want so desperately to push all of the negativity and harsh criticism out of my head and my heart and just realize (truly) what those who love me (the ones who TRULY love me) see in me:

 My house is messy because I run a business from home and would rather play with my girls than clean up after them. My kids are "undisciplined" because I parent by natural consequence and don't lay a finger on them if they "step out of line." I have no college degree because I couldn't get enough financial aid to finish, and I fell in love instead. I have no job that pays the way that most people's jobs do...because I am self-employed. I am always moving in a forward direction, whether east or north or west or south... I'm divorced but currently in a relationship with a great man. I was kicked out of the Coast Guard because I was depressed and suicidal, and it wasn't my path. I'm certifiably insane because my family makes me so. I have at least 3 gray hairs, and I have expression lines in my forehead to show that I have lived and stressed and am real...I am mean to my husband when he doesn't treat me like I deserve to be treated. I can't bake, but I am a badass cook. I'm an alcoholic (though non-practicing) wine enthusiast...I have shitty credit because I made some bad decisions in the past...A couple of my back molars are slightly crooked, which adds to my unique character. My ears are oddly small, but I still hear just fine. I have a flair for the dramatics and, in fact, I purposely seek out drama...on BravoTV.  I'm narcissistic because my doctor told me to be. I'm fat, but I'm working on that. I'm a liar truth teller. I manipulate inspire people. I have a "Princess Complex" because I believe every woman deserves to be treated as such.

It's so difficult to crawl out of this hole that has swallowed my hope, my love, and my lust for life. There are some days that I don't even care to leave my bed, if I'm being honest. I mean, we do have 1600 thread count sheets...so...But honestly, I have decided to do it anyway. I've decided not to allow these criticisms and untruths define me. And I won't let these things affect my children. King and I have decided to move. We've decided to leave the Midwest in favor of a warmer, breezier, more beautiful climate with a view. I'm excited. For the first time in awhile, I feel sincerely and whole-heartedly hopeful. So, we've set a date...and we're moving to St. Croix. <3

Here's to ME.

So...Funny Story...

I swear to Gato that I have the most interesting (worst?) luck known to mankind. I will expound upon my entire journey in another entry (or 7), but this story needs to be told while it's still semi-fresh in my mind. I spent 10 days of the last 2 weeks in Arizona for the first time since I left town after my ex husband and I decided things weren't going to work out between us...that was almost 6 years ago. There is plenty to talk about with regard to the entire trip, but the most ironic/interesting/possibly sadistically hilarious thing that happened was on the flight back to Indy.

My aunt and I were on the same flight back (well, AND down, but we'll save that entry for another day). We boarded the flight on time in Phoenix, and everything was going smoothly. That should have probably been the first ominous clue that something was about to go horribly awry. However, I tend to enjoy the positivity when it happens, especially on incredibly stressful trips full of family drama. SO, we boarded smoothly, got sat next to a crazy cat lady (on the INSIDE of course), pushed early from the gate, and all was well.

Beverage/food service started as usual, announcements at the 10K feet mark as are standard, and the crazy cat lady chattered on about the rocketship pillow that she had crocheted for her grandson's birthday. My aunt and I giggled quietly to each other while sharing some almonds, and we let the cat lady babble on...a few moments later, the first class flight attendant came over the intercom and asked that a doctor come forward if there was one on board the flight...My training immediately came back to me, and I knew this probably wasn't an ideal situation. However, I had hopes that it was maybe a nervous flier that just got super dizzy and airsick or something...

Shortly after a doctor came forward, another flight attendant flew by me and said "someone get me the AED..." at which point I knew we were about to be diverted, someone's life was at stake, and our day was about to get royally fucked up. Another doctor and 2 nurses joined the effort to save this man's life, but unfortunately, it takes a long ass time to land an A320...even with the optimal conditions. We were just 30 miles past the ABQ airport and got immediate clearance to land. However, it still took us 30-40 from the start time of the tragedy until we were on the ground with EMS crews working on him. When we landed, there were 4 fire trucks, multiple police cars, and an ambulance waiting at the gate...

Unfortunately, no matter how many flashing lights were available at the time, it wasn't enough to save this man's life. So, what's the point of all of this?

The point is that my Grams is planning a trip to St. Croix in the very near future. She has bought her ticket and is ready to do whatever it takes to get on the plane, up to and including defying her doctors and (possibly) lying to the airlines. The point is that my trip to Arizona was a last-minute trip to help my mother get through her mother's impending death (which didn't happen this time). The point is that my Grams' heart stopped. She has a Pacemaker now. She has stage IV COPD (end stage), and she now has renal issues as well. The point is that a LOT of people don't realize what they can't see. The point is that this man (probably) never should have boarded flight 460. The point is that air travel is incredibly hard on your body in ways that we can't see on the outside.

The point is that I really didn't need this message. I didn't need to bear witness to a guy dying 2 rows in front of me. However, since I did, I'm putting it out there for you. Care about your loved ones enough not to allow them to do something incredibly selfish and stupid. Care about them enough to keep them off an airplane if they aren't in optimal health. You may think you're teaching them a hard lesson by allowing them to do something foolish, but really...this man's body is in Albuquerque...and his family is here. He never made it. They never loaded up the ambulance...They loaded up a hearse instead.

122 people deplaned and sat in Albuquerque for 7 hours. This incident cost the airline more money than you or I can imagine making in a matter of years. Our aircraft had to be flown back to Phoenix to have medical equipment be replenished. A crewmember witnessed a death, and therefore, the crew automatically timed out and had to be replaced. The aircraft then had to be flown BACK to Albuquerque to load up 122 extremely pissed off travelers who didn't care about that man but, instead, about their fucked up day. Several people were demanding refunds, and so many were treating the gate agents and even the PILOTS like last night's whore. It was an embarrassment the way these "people" were acting. I can understand their frustration at not being able to get where they were going in a reasonable time frame, but this was completely out of the airline's control. So, who should these people be pissed at? That's the point of this entry. We should be angry with those who enabled this obviously sick man to travel by air.

The cat lady kept saying how "unfair" it was for this man to have died. I disagree with her, though. Not that life has a way of being fair or anything, but this man knew the risks of getting on that flight. His family knew the risks. His doctors knew the risks...And if any of these people were left uninformed, shame on them. If any of you could stop this from happening in the future, I beg of you to do so. Why? Well, how would you feel knowing that your father/grandfather/aunt/uncle/mother/grandmother's body was alone in a freezer in a city 7 states away because you didn't stop him/her from getting on that plane?

Here's to the bearer of bad news...

Bacon Crusted Mac & Cheese...The REAL Way to a Man's Heart

What You Need:

12 oz center cut bacon

2 8 oz blocks of cheese (I used Helluva Good Pepperjack & Medium Cheddar)

12 oz can of Evaporated milk (the higher the fat content, the creamier the dish, but I usually use 2%)

Your favorite box of pasta (My girls chose "flowers" ie. Fiori)

Olive oil of your choosing, just a few dashes

A covered baking dish (The one pictured is 2½ quarts) coated with your fave cooking spray

A colander (aka the thing you use to drain your pasta, not to be confused with a calendar, which might come in handy when choosing the next time you're going to make this stellar meal)

A cheese grater

What You Do:

All right, you are going to end up using three burners on your stovetop if it's electric. If it's gas, commence gloating now. Anyway, first I start cooking the bacon since it takes a bajillion years. I cook it on the stovetop, and you should, too. Here's why. You need that small amount of bacon grease to flavor your mac & cheese. Using center cut bacon, you won't have nearly as much fat, and that is a good thing all around. Trust me. Your waist will thank you later. So, long story short, start cooking your bacon in the biggest skillet you have. Medium to medium-high heat is best, and I usually start a bit lower and work my way up.

Now you can start boiling water for your pasta. Simultaneously (and this might be difficult for the multi-tasking challenged), preheat your oven to 350º. P.S. Your bacon is still sizzling. 

In between waiting for your water to boil and waiting 17 years for the bacon to cook, you want to shred your cheese. I shred mine into 2 separate bowls and pop them back into the fridge while I am standing around watching the pot that's never going to boil and the bacon that's never going to be done. ;-)

When your water comes to a rolling boil, toss in a dash of olive oil and let it get to a boil again. THEN dump the pasta in. Give it a good stir, and cook as you ordinarily would. Here's the trick, though. A lot of times when you bake pasta dishes, the pasta comes out mushy and gross by the time it comes out of the oven. How does one avoid this, you ask? Well, only cook it to FIRM. Most directions will give you instructions for "firm," "al dente," and "tender." The first marker is what you want to hit. 

So once your pasta is finished cooking (and your bacon isn't), pop it in the colander and rinse with hot water. I suppose the temperature of the water doesn't really matter, though, since you will be baking it anyway. Just a habit. Leave it in the sink while you make your cheese sauce, k? 

So, I usually boil the water on the back burner because it's bigger and away from the little hands who like to reach up from out of nowhere and attempt to burn their little fingers. K, so when I do the sauce part, it's too far to reach to the back burner, so I use a front burner. Anyway, heat up the evaporated milk, and then dump in your first round of cheese. Stir on the constant until it's melted, and then add your second cheese. Repeat, and once everything is blended together, add in your pasta. Mix it all up, and then pour the entire mixture into your baking dish. 

By now, your bacon should finally be done...or at least close. It doesn't have to be completely finished cooking, as it will continue to sizzle while you bake it. So once your cheesy pasta is settled into its new home (the baking dish), arrange your strips of bacon on top. Then drizzle the bacon drippings on top. Cover the baking dish, pop it in the oven, and set a timer for 30 minutes. In the meantime, I am usually making several bows...but you don't have to do that. ;-) Maybe fold a load of towels or reprimand a kid or two while you wait. 

Once the 30 minutes is up, remove the lid, and bake it for about another 10 minutes, or until your bacon looks like you want it to look. Some people like charred bacon, and others don't. A good rule of thumb is 10 minutes though. 

And that's all she wrote, folks! I know it's long, drawn out instructions, but hey, I like to keep it interesting around here. I'd love to hear your feedback, your tweaks, etc. So let me know if you tried this and what you think!

*S*

A New Endeavor

I am absolutely positive that my loyal followers have been wondering why I have disappeared off of the blogosphere yet again! I know you're all anxious to hear about Captain, amongst my other adventures. However, I must confess that my attention has been brought to a new endeavor!

I recently bought a sewing machine and decided it was important to learn to use it...well, because otherwise King would not be happy that I wasted a bunch of money on a large paperweight. That being said, I have opened a small boutique shop online, and I will be doing somewhat of a craft fair tour this fall.

So, here is a link to my shop, and I will post some photos of my work below!

I am running some awesome promotions right now for new fans of my page, so make sure you check it out and 'Like' it!