Blood, sweat and tears...over Uno.

Picture this: There are six people sitting around an old kitchen table in western Kansas. There's a curly haired kid who is my favorite curly haired child ever, there's the youngest, who is my favorite youngest ever, and there's a pretty awesome red-haired kid who shares a middle name with me.

Each kid is literally my favorite kid on the planet.

My parents and I are also there, and we're all sitting at the table, getting ready to play some card games. I mentioned casually to my parents that my blog is 10 years old this year. (Happy birthday, blog!)

A few minutes later, we are deep into playing a game of Uno. A great family trait that we have is that we don't like to lose — the curly haired kid has cheated at card games since she was three years old, all to avoid losing.

So we're playing this vicious game of Uno, with 9-year-old twins and a 7-year-old, and suddenly, the baby starts crying. I did not see what happened, but she was hysterical. Whatever happened was a very big deal to her and she was sobbing. I invited her into my lap for some sympathy, and she gladly accepted.

The sandy-haired baby crawled into my lap and cried into my chest. I patted her back, rocked her, and told her it was going to be okay, and then I asked her what happened.

It turns out that middle kid, the curly haired one, punched her in the mouth. Over Uno.

(Full disclosure: I did not see the mouth punch. Middle child claimed it was an accident and not a punch, but instead just a "poke.")

I pulled down the baby's lip and saw blood. Over a game of Uno?

The baby got over it pretty quickly and want back to her seat, which was beside her curly-haired sister. Each time it was the baby's turn, she asked who went after her. Then, she grinned this little evil grin and spent the rest of the Uno game giving her big sister all of the 'Draw 2' and 'Draw 4' cards, and also some 'Skip' cards thrown in there for good measure.

At one point, middle curly haired child did not play a blue card. It was at that point that I asked her: "You have a million cards. How do you not have a single blue one?"

Middle kid was not having it and ended up with a million cards. There were dirty looks and attitudes and cards thrown everywhere.

She was ticked and the baby got her revenge.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll run out of things to write about, 10 years after I started writing on my blog. And then my family gets together and there's blood, sweat and tears during an Uno game, and then I realize that I'll probably never stop writing.

Also, please note that the red-haired child is introverted like her aunt and stayed out of the drama.

And for the next game that we played, the youngest one and the middle child did not sit next to each other.

Vicious. 😆

At the end of the night my parents asked me if I was going to write about this.

How can I not?

(Please note that all the kids in this story are fine and lived through it with no permanent injuries.)

"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

I'm going to set the scene for you.

My favorite little red-head is 8 years old. She's smart, spunky, and has an attitude that she blames on her red hair.

My Dad, her Papa, said something to her that made her mad. I have no idea what he said because I wasn't paying attention. Whatever was said was probably was not that bad.

My favorite little red-head went right up to her Papa, looked him in the eye, told him something and then walked away.

She said: "Papa, you're disappointing and you have no brain."

And then I died in a fit of laughter. 

That insult is direct and concise. It's clean, with no cussing and she didn't even raise her voice when she said it. Her tone was even, her delivery was perfect and she was confident in her wording.

I give it a 10 out of 10. It's the perfect insult. 

"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

Also, I feel that way about a lot of people in my adult life. Thank you, little redhead, for giving me the perfect words and the perfect insult. I'm going to put that one in my back pocket and save it for future use.

Today was one of those days.

I went home over the weekend, unexpectedly. 

The first thing I did when I walked in the door was tell my Mom and Dad’s old dog, Carly, hi. At 16, Carly always made sure to come see me when I came home.

 

I gave her a few gentle scratches, and she went off to her own little world to sleep.

 

At 3 a.m. Sunday, I woke up and met my Mom in the living room. The reason for our meeting wasn’t good.

 

We both knew it was time.

 

When I went to leave on Sunday afternoon, I gave Carly a few more pets. I scratched her head. She was pretty happy.

 

I knew it would be the last time that I’d see her.

 

Before I left, I went to pet her one more time.

 

I told her goodbye.

 

When Carly crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Monday morning, I sent my best friend a message, letting her know.

 

My friend’s response: I’m glad Carly waited to see you first.

 

Carly did wait for me. I’m thankful for that.

 

--

 

In 2006, my family and I put one of my childhood dogs down. I was in college at the time, and it was the first time that I had ever put a dog to sleep.

 

I had that dog since I was 8, and I was a wreck.

 

I cried every single night for weeks. One night, my parents came downstairs and asked me what would make me feel better.

 

I told them a puppy.

 

The next day, my Mom called me at work. She told me to come home after work because I had to meet someone.

 

And that’s how I met little Carly Sue.

 

Carly was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. She was a mutt, part Corgi and part Heeler.

She was basically a Corgi with long, freckly legs.

 

Carly was tiny, and Carly hated people. She loved our other big dog, a Collie named Socks. But for the longest time, Carly hated everyone.

 

I took her downstairs and held her for an entire episode of Law & Order. Carly never once looked at me for that hour. She looked at the ceiling, at the walls, at the television, but never once at me.

 

Carly! I remember thinking that she’d be a whole lot cuter if she just liked people more. (Her personality never really changed.)

 

When my best friend came over and asked to see our new puppy, we told her sure, if you can catch her.

 

We caught Carly by throwing a laundry basket over her in the backyard.

 

She was mostly attached to other dogs, but eventually, she warmed up to us.

 

I remember my Dad and I took her to a nearby lake one winter day. There was still ice in the center of the lake, and my Dad and I were looking the view, talking with each other. We weren’t paying much attention to Carly, who was snooping around.

 

Carly jumped in the lake.

 

I asked my Dad if she could swim. He said he hoped so, because he didn’t want to jump in the freezing lake to get her.

 

She doggy paddled her little heart out, and to my knowledge, Carly never jumped in water again. (Too cold.)

 

Carly loved other dogs. She loved Penny, my old dog who is still around, and she loved Chief, my aunt’s old dog. For her entire life, Carly always had a Collie with her. When we took her and the Collies walking, people would stop and make fun of her.

 

They called her a Collie wannabe. A groupie, if you will.

 

She didn’t really care if the other dog was big or little, she just loved being around other dogs. I don’t know how many photos of Carly and Penny we have together, snuggled up and sleeping together.

She also loved Jasper, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year.

 

You can have 16 good years with a dog, full of tail wags, kisses and snuggles, walks and belly rubs and romps in the snow, and then one bad day comes along, turns your life upside down and completely wrecks your soul forever.

 

Today was one of those days.

 

In our family, we grieve the loss, and then we stop to remember that it is possible to love again. I think some people get so upset at the thought of putting another dog down that they vow to never have another pet again.

 

In our family, we learn to love again. We do eventually get another dog, and we learn to trust new beginnings and accept someone new into our life.

 

I think we just need to wake up to a dog’s love at our feet. I’ve had that my entire life, and I’ll have that forever.

 

What Carly loved most of all was other dogs, and I hope she’s surrounded by all her friends who passed before her.

 

Goodbye, Carly. You were a perfect, feisty little dog.

 

We love you.

867-5309

Going home means something different now that I don't do it very often.

I moved to the other side of the state a year ago. When it comes to little kids, that means that I went from being a full-time aunt on the weekends, oftentimes on Friday night through Sunday afternoon, to seeing my nieces once a month for a few hours at a time.

That's a bummer, yes, but it's a life change that was necessary for me.

Plus, it's made for some pretty hilarious little kid moments.

I went home for Easter last weekend. I was home for 25 hours, and I could probably come up with 25 different little kid stories to share.

I'll start with this first. 

My little curly haired niece, one of the twins, is 8 years old. She wanted to play 'Doctor' with her papa, my dad. Little curly haired K gets one of papa's shirts, puts it on and pretends it's a doctor's coat, and puts on a pair of my dad's glasses.

Good doctors wear glasses and coats.

Next, my dad sits down in a chair and starts answering the doctor's questions. 

But the question my little niece started out with had me trying really hard not to laugh at the kitchen table, where my mom and I were eavesdropping. 

Little K's first question to her patient: "What's your dog's name?"

Papa said his dog's name was Ralph. I have no idea how he answered that question with a straight face, because I was cracking up in the kitchen.

Your dog's name is important to you when you're that young.

Papa was eventually diagnosed and treated with Band-Aids on his ears and lotion on his face. 

After my little niece was done with her patient, my mom and I looked at the notepad that she was writing on during her appointment. She wrote her patient's phone number down as 867-5309.

And then we all laughed until our sides hurt.

If anyone reads this and doesn't understand that phone number, we need to have a little chat after you watch this.

For my own selfish reasons, I hope I influence my three nieces in a variety of ways, my love of music being the one thing I want them to inherit from me.

When your age is less than two whole hands and you know 867-5309 by heart, well, that means you're being raised right, in my opinion.

This is the cutest thing that I've witnessed recently.

I love that curly haired kid more than life itself. 

Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

There are certain things I never thought I'd say out loud.

Among them: Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

Pickles, my little black Pug, along with her two Pug buddies and I, made the 400-round trip mile to go home over the weekend.

Pickles celebrated by being the life of the party. She had some spaghetti and birthday cake, loved on my brother's three kids, and snored all the way home.

💛

 

Literally.

One of the things I wasn’t expecting when my nieces were born was how much they would mature when they started school.

The twins are in second grade, and their baby sister is in kindergarten. 

The following conversation took place between the twins, who turned 8 a few days ago.

L: Do aliens have ears?

K: They literally do. 

LITERALLY, aliens have ears? 🤣

I’m sorry I can’t finish this blog post right now, because an 8-year-old just slayed me by using a word that I have a giant girl crush on.

LITERALLY.

Later that night, we had the twins playing Scrabble. K was in the lead, and was really proud of that, until L played a word and got 14 points from it.

K was no longer ahead, and that pissed her off.

K, talking to her twin sister: You have evil glasses. You have evil toes and feet. You have evil glitter on your shirt. 

Again, K is slaying me with words right now. 

K and I talked about words that rhyme. I spit out the word ‘bed’ and before I could even think, the next poet laureate of the United States started rhyming words.

These kids are the coolest kids I’ve ever met. 

Go best friends!

Also, you’d think a writer would be good at Scrabble, but I suck at it. 

Stick that in your country blog.

I spent a riveting 40 minutes on the phone with my parents last night, and what I’m about to share might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written.

I interviewed my parents about concerts they went to, both before and after they met, concerts they took my brother and I go when we were little, the first record they ever bought, and a few other things along the way.

 

I was thinking of breaking this up into several blog posts, but I like it the way it is. It’s kind of long, messy, skips here and there, and rambles a bit.

 

It’s a lot like life. It doesn’t make sense at times, but we’re just going to roll with it and see where it goes.

 

--

 

The first concert my Mom ever went to was ZZ Top in Hays, Kansas, in 1977.

 

She went with a “special friend” who, might I add, was not my Dad. (My Dad was at that concert with a buddy of his, though, which was two years before my parents met.)

 

Me: “Was your ‘special friend’ cute?”

 

Mom: “Yes. But I won’t give details.”

 

That was in 1977. My Mom was 19.

 

The first concert my Dad saw was Barry Manilow, also in Hays, Kansas on October 18, 1975. He was 20.

 

--

 

I stopped this portion of the interview to ask a very important question.

 

If you went to your first concert at 19 and 20 years old, why did you start taking your kids to concerts so young?

 

I was around six years old when I saw Chris LeDoux. My brother was nine.

 

It was a question I genuinely want to know the answer to. In my adult life, I think it’s weird that people experience their first concert after high school. That just seems so old to me.

 

I guess I automatically assume that everyone was raised like I was – going to concerts so young that you’re not even able to form memories of them.

 

So, Kansas parents, why did you take my brother and I to concerts when we were so young?

 

My Mom: “What else were we going to do with you?”

 

Dad: “We tried to sell you, but no one wanted you.”

 

Those answers are perfect.

 

Mom: “We took you places.”

 

Dad: “We wanted you to open your eyes. Look at what you’re doing now.  You’re succeeding.”

 

I don’t know about that, but I’ll take whatever compliment I can get.

My Mom and I at Church in 2017 in Wichita. My first time seeing him!

--

 

Growing up, I remember my Mom being a big country music fan. Dad was more rock. But in my world, Mom was always a country music person.

 

That was not always the case.

 

My parents went and saw Ricky Skaggs in Dodge City. According to them, I was about a year old, so let’s say this is around 1986. (They did not take me.)

 

My Mom said Ricky Skaggs was so good at that show, that she went back and got his autograph after the show.

 

Ricky Skaggs asked my mom if she was a big country music fan. My Mom said not really.

 

Ricky Skaggs said to my mom: “Well, I hope I converted you, darling.”

 

My reaction to hearing that: Wayne Newton’s hitting on Mom!

 

--

 

Other concerts my Dad went to when he was a young lad include Chicago, ZZ Top and Neil Sedaka.

 

My Dad: “There was a band opening for Chicago that no one had ever heard of. It was Charlie Daniel’s Band. I remember seeing them and thinking, ‘Who are these people?!?’”

 

--                                                                           

 

The first concert I ever went to was Chris LeDoux in Dodge City, which is my hometown.

 

My parents and I scoured the internet, meaning we Googled it for about five minutes, and we could not come up with a date for that concert. However, Western Underground came out in 1991, so it was around then.

 

I was six years old and I had Western Underground on cassette tape. I carried my little brown and tan tape player with me everywhere, listening to Chris LeDoux. It had a handle on it and looked like a purse.

 

I loved Chris LeDoux when I was little. This Cowboy’s Hat is still one of my favorite songs.

 

The thing that hurts my heart and soul is that I don’t remember going to his concert. I was too little. I also don’t remember getting his autograph, but I do have it. He wrote my name on it at a meet and greet.

 

My Dad did not go to this concert.

 

According to my Mom, she took my brother and I to a lot of concerts by herself.

 

“Dad always worked late.”

 

A woman going to a concert by herself? That sounds familiar.

 

Bad ass.

 

(Both of us.)

 

--

 

Other interview notes:

 

Faith Hill opened for Brooks and Dunn in 1994 in Dodge City. I was apparently at this concert, although I don’t remember it. More on that later.

 

My brother did not go, and no one really remembers why.

 

I think that’s hilarious.

 

Alan Jackson was in 1995 at the Kansas State Fair in Hutchinson. This is the first concert I officially remember going to. I was 10, and I’ll talk on that more later.

 

--

So, Mom, I said. Before you liked country, what did you listen to?

 

“The Monkeys.”

 

It was the first vinyl she ever bought.

 

According to my Dad, back then (I didn’t ask what years ‘then’ was), there was only one FM radio station, and it was top 40s pop. If you wanted to listen to something else, your friends would tell you about “a good record – you ought to go get it.”

 

--

 

The first record my Dad ever bought was The Rolling Stones.

 

Dad: “There was a contest on who was the best: The Beatles, The Monkeys, or The Rolling Stones. There’d be long arguments about that.”

 

This was in the 1960s.

 

--

 

There was no record store in Dodge City back in the day. My parents bought records through Columbia Record Club, a subscription service from which they bought 9-10 records a year out of Terra Haute, Indiana.

 

Please note that Dodge City, Kansas, is a 2.5 hour drive from Wichita, the nearest major city. Dodge City is literally in the middle of nowhere.

 

Mom: “That was the only way to get records, through the mail.”

 

Also, Gibson’s (a department store) had records. There was no Walmart in 1981, when my parents got married, according to them.

 

Mom: “You had to be part of a record club or go to Wichita. After that, it was 8-tracks, cassettes and CDs.”

 

And then Hastings opened in the early 80s. They had records.

 

Dad: “It was a big deal with Hastings opened up. It was like when Blockbuster opened up. It was a big deal.”

 

(I don’t even know how many times he said “It was a big deal.” It was, evidently, a big deal.)

 

Also, my Dad was a member of an 8-track club.

 

Note: I don’t understand the record club thing. According to my Mom, it was like a modern day Boxy Charm, only for music.

 

You could pick your LP, but if you didn’t send your card in, then you got one that was a ‘record of the month’ that the club picked for you.

 

Mom: “That was the only way to get records out here.”

 

Me: So they sent you records through the mail? Like, snail mail?

 

My Mom: “Yes. It’s like what Church does.”

 

Okay, I get it now. If you bring Eric Church into the mix, then I understand it better.

 

--

 

Okay, parents. What’s the best concert you’ve ever been to?

 

My Dad says Brooks and Dunn in 1994.

 

Dad: “I had a freaking blast at that concert. What got me is that it was in Dodge City, Kansas. It sounded like they were playing in a freaking studio. They didn’t miss a beat.”

 

Mom: “You were drunk.”

 

Dad: “I remember being drunk. They had it goin’ on. They were freaking great. When you see them in an outdoor setting and they sound like they’re in the studio, they just got it goin’ on.”

 

I was at this concert. I was 9 years old and I don’t remember it.

 

I wish I did.

 

My opinion: Brooks and Dunn had it goin’ on back then, and they still have it goin’ on now.

 

Also, when I was in high school, my dad randomly bought me a CD, without me prompting him and not on my birthday or for Christmas. It was the only CD he ever bought me randomly, and for no reason at all.

 

It was a Brooks and Dunn CD.

 

--

 

My Mom’s favorite concert: George Strait in Kansas City in 2001.

 

My parents sat in the nosebleeds at Arrowhead Stadium under a blanket.

 

It was the George Strait Country Music Festival, and my parents went without my brother and I. I remember they came back from the concert, told us how great it us, and said that my brother and I needed to see it.

 

We went to Dallas and saw George Strait (and friends!) at Texas Stadium.

 

It was Texas, it was in June, and it was hotter than hell out. I bought my best friend a yellow George Strait tank top as a ‘thank you’ gift for watching our family dogs while we were on that trip.

 

At that concert, I saw two grown ass drunk men head butt each other in broad daylight. I remember seeing blood all over the concrete by the bathrooms.

 

Welcome to country concerts, teenage Monica. You go to a fight and a concert breaks out.

 

Dad: “There was enough beer to go around, but there wasn’t enough water. They ran out of water, but not beer. Figure that out.”

 

Alan Jackson performed on that tour. His set was during the day, and Texas Stadium had a giant cut out in its roof. There was a section of the crowd that sat in the sun all damn day and baked.

 

We were in that section of the crowd.

 

My parents said Alan Jackson talked to the people in the sun and asked them if they were warm.

 

It was so fucking hot that day.

 

My Mom: “George is great.”

 

Also my Mom: “Country music was different back then.”

 

I agree.

 

--

 

Between both of my parents, they have about 100 vinyl records.

 

My Dad apparently built a rack for them in the basement (which I’ve not seen yet.)

 

He says the records are doing well there.

 

Mom: “You check on them?”

 

Dad: “Yeah.”

 

--

This is the first picture of Eric Church I ever took. Well...his name, anyway. Wichita 2017

A while back, my Dad gave me a Burton Cummings vinyl album, and held it side by side to an Eric Church record. Both albums are…basically giant faces of men with shaggy hair.

 

As my Dad calls my favorite artist: “What’s his name?”

 

Just wait until next month, Dad, when you go to Church for the first time. Just wait. You just won’t be the same person after that.

 

It changes you.

 

--

 

I treated interviewing my parents like a real interview, because it was a real interview. It’s an interview for a story that I’m writing.

 

(My college degree is in journalism, and I was a newspaper reporter for many years during high school, college, and the start of my professional life. I’ve done this whole interviewing and writing thing a few times in my life.)

 

As with any interview I do, I asked my final question: Is there anything else you’d like to add?

 

My Dad: “Put that in your country blog.”

 

For those of you who don’t speak my language: Eric Church has a song called Stick That in Your Country Song.

 

And that’s how I knew what the title of this post was going to be. It was handed to me on a silver platter by the man who once bought me a Brooks and Dunn CD without me even asking for it.

 

--

 

Here are some random concert and music notes from Monicaland.

 

• My first concert was Chris LeDoux around the age of 6.

 

• The first concert that I remember is Alan Jackson. I was 10. According to my Mom, I asked why all the women screamed when he “turned around and shook his butt.”

 

My Mom’s answer: “You’ll understand when you get a little older.”

 

I get it now. I understand.

 

Also, I remember standing on the bleachers on my tippy toes to see him.

 

My Dad had to work in Dallas the next day, so he caught a flight there while my Mom took my brother and I to the concert.

 

• The first vinyl I ever bought was Eric Church’s Desperate Man.

 

• The first song on vinyl I ever remember hearing is Hotel California. If I remember right, I got a CD player for Christmas that held five CDs – FIVE CDS – which was pretty groundbreaking in the 1990s.

 

It had a record player on top of it, so my parents brought some records up from the basement and played them for me.

 

I still remember that.

 

• The first CD I ever bought was The Fugees. I still love Killing Me Softly (With His Hands).

 

• The first check I wrote was also for a CD, and it was Alicia Keys.

 

--

 

I don’t know the number of concerts I’ve been to in my life, but it’s quite a few.

 

My hometown is a rodeo town. Each summer, there’s always a country concert that kicks off the rodeo.

 

When my brother and I were little, it was a really big deal. I remember my parents driving past the rodeo grounds to show us the semi trucks that brought all of the stage and sound equipment.

 

After we drove past the rodeo grounds, we would always go find the tour bus, which in a pretty small town in southwest Kansas, was always at the same hotel. The nicest hotel in town.

 

Also, back then, we didn’t have many hotels in town.

 

I remember it was a really big deal to see the tour buses in town. We got so excited because that’s where ‘whoever is playing the concert tonight’ is.

 

It was just so freaking cool.

 

Also, during my DC trip, one of my Uber drivers dumped me off in the middle of a street by two tour buses by The Anthem.

 

My life has come full circle.

--

 

I went to college in and near Wichita, Kansas. My parents came to see me quite a few times, but it was never just to see me.

 

They had tickets to whatever concert they wanted to go to, and they bought me a ticket so I could tag along.

 

We saw Gary Allan four times in Wichita this way.

 

It was also a chance for me to get out of my crappy dorm room and stay in a nice hotel for a couple of nights.

 

That’s why I liked Gary Allan a lot in college. He brought good news into my life – a concert, my parents to town, a free dinner and usually a free breakfast the day after. And maybe they topped my tank off with gas and bought me some groceries or goodies, too.

 

College Monica liked Gary Allan a lot.

 

Grown up Monica still likes him a lot, too.

 

--

 

I quizzed my parents on whether I went to Brooks and Dunn with them in 1994. They were adamant that I was there. I was nine years old, I don’t remember it, and my Dad was drunk.

 

Almost 30 years later, I am slowly starting to realize that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

 

--

 

I could talk about concerts and music forever. But as I'm typing this in Microsoft Word, I’m on page 9, so I need to wrap this up.

 

Here’s a list of concerts I’ve been to in my life. Not dates, locations or years. Just the artists. I think it’s cool to keep a list. This is in no particular order, and this started when my parents took me to a concert when I was six years old.

 

I have a theory: How you’re raised is how you live.

 

I think that’s pretty accurate.

 

My concert list:

 

• Chris LeDoux

• Brooks and Dunn

• Reba

• Alan Jackson, a few times.

• George Strait

• Eric Church…times 13. Soon to be 16. I have a problem.

• Gary Allan, times 5.

• Lee Ann Womak

• Sara Evans

• Asleep at the Wheel

• Lonestar

• Brad Paisley

• Maren Morris and her husband

• Jake Owen

• Lanco, twice

• Mike Ryan…opened for somebody. Lanco, maybe?

• CJ Solar (opened for Gary Allan)

• Justin Moore

• Jerrod Neimann, twice

• Weird Al Yankovic

• Hanson, times 6

• NSYNC, twice

• Chris Cagle

• Creed

• Gavin Degraw

• The SteelDrivers

• Thomas Rhett

• Brett Eldridge

• Brothers Osborne

• John Michael Montgomery

• STYX

• ZZ Top

• Lynyrd Skynyrd

• Mannheim Steamroller

• A bluegrass festival in college, times three, where I was introduced to John McCutcheon. I love that guy.

Geico for your money.

I was driving around my hometown with my parents on Christmas Eve, looking at the neighborhood that usually puts luminaries out.

Except this year that neighborhood did not do luminaries, which means Christmas should have been canceled and I just wasted a trip home. (Best guess as to why they didn’t put them out this year: burn ban.)

I had surgery on Dec. 20, and I was in a mood on Christmas Eve. My head throbbed and my face was swollen.

I was in the backseat, and I started talking about how I want a prenup if someone ever decides that I’m maybe marriage material.

My parents didn’t seem to like this idea of mine.

Marriage is forever, they said. Through sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live. ‘Til death do you part.

At this point, I thought the only appropriate response to that was to start singing some Kayne:

We want prenup! We want prenup! It’s something that you need to have, cause when she leaves, she’s gonna leave with half.

🤷‍♀️

Merry Christmas to my parents, from me.

We don’t want no gold diggers! 

Space and stuff.

Confession time: I have a huge girl crush on all things NASA, space, and Neil deGrasse Tyson.

I was pretty excited to have this conversation…until it actually happened. 🤷‍♀️

My Dad: Are you excited for the James Webb Space Telescope?

Me: Yes. But we won’t get any images for six months, so don’t get too excited.

(Crickets.)

My Dad: Hey Dad, are you excited for the James Webb Space Telescope?

Me: Hey Dad, are you excited for the James Webb Space Telescope?

Dad: Yes! We need a little closer look at Uranus.

(NOT. MY. JOKE.)

🤣

I’m going to reverse your face.

I’ve spent a week in my hometown, which is a few days too many in my opinion.

These are my favorite quotes, in no particular order: 

Me: If both kids are hiding, who is seeking?

BFF: It’s quiet. I don’t care.

—

My Dad: This makes me want to pull out my little grey hairs.

Context: I don’t remember.

—

My favorite 7-year-old redhead, playing Uno: I’m going to reverse your face.

🤣

She’s the best.

—

Redheaded 7-year-old: Pop is delicious.

36-year-old aunt: Just wait until you’re old enough to put rum in it.

—

Same kid, looking at a photo of Eric Church that I took a couple of weeks ago: He’s real?

🤣

—

Redhead, while playing Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza: This is so stressful.

…it’s Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. 🤣

—

This is not a quote, but a memory that I’ll remember forever.

We were watching the new Spider-Man movie, and everyone’s favorite friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was on the big screen making out with his girlfriend.

My favorite little redhead turns her body towards me, rolls her eyes at the top of her head and sticks out her tongue.

I feel the same way about men and love, child.

She’s the best ever.

(Monica's version)

When I was a newspaper reporter, I always wrote the 'Holidays and Grief' story each year. 

Every newspaper across the country does it. Back then, it was important to me to let people know that not everyone loves the holidays.

There are people grieving lost loved ones or lost marriages, and for those people, being surrounded by love and happiness and the holidays is a really painful time.

I am not grieving a lost loved one or a marriage, but that doesn't mean that I don't have grief in my life.

I haven't exactly made it a secret to anyone, but if you don’t know, here’s this: the past two or three years of my life have completely sucked. I keep waiting for a light at the end of the tunnel, maybe a little glimmer of hope somewhere, to let me know that everything will be all right in the end.

But right now, it feels like I'm stuck in a cycle of misery. If misery was a competition, I would win it in a land slide in my age category.

I deserve a trophy for all of the misery that I've gone through. 

Before I delve into this further, I want to say that I'm very aware that there are people in the world whose problems are worse than mine. I know there are people who lost family members to the pandemic. I know there are people going through cancer and other horrible diseases. 

So before anyone judges me too harshly on this not-so-rosey blog post, I want to point out that I think it's okay to not be okay.

Let me repeat that: It's all right if you're not all right.

---

The only thing I've done for the past few days is listen to the 10-minute version of Taylor Swift's All Too Well. 

I haven't done anything. I wake up, cry to that song, sit in my place in my pajamas all day, eat ice cream and wine for dinner, and cry and cry and cry to that song.

It took me a few days to watch the short film. The first few times I tried to get through it, I made it to the 5-minute mark, before I shut my laptop and stormed off and cried somewhere.

The line that got me: You're mad at me for something I don't even remember doing. 

That one hit a little too close to home for me. 

That happened to me.

---

I've read and I've heard a lot of people talking about their reactions to this song. Some people don't understand how such a short relationship can wreck you. Some think it's about revenge. 

Here are my thoughts, from what I experienced personally.

The kind of person she's singing about in that song is a person who is really hard to explain to people who haven't met someone like that before. 

They're charming. They're good looking. They tell you everything you want to hear at first, like how beautiful you are, how glad they are that they met you, how they like being around you. 

They build you up to tear you down.

I think the kind of person she's talking about in this song is a lot like the kind of person I had in my life once. That kind of person is lacking basic human emotions that most people have. Things like empathy, sympathy, compassion, embarrassment, and pretty much any other normal human emotion are completely missing from their personality.

They don't have any of it. 

I'm not a psychologist or a therapist, but my theory is that these people are born without it. Some people call that a psychopath, a sociopath, or a narcissist.

Here's what I call it: evil. 

I like how people assume that her ex is embarrassed right now because this song came out.

He's not. 

He doesn't give a shit.

---

The first crack in my relationship appeared less than a month into it. I knew it would end. I knew I should have walked away.

I didn't. 

When I finally asked him about it, the first crack, he said: "I don't even remember doing that to you."

One of my favorite comments I read about that specific line in the short film: "I didn't know gaslighting looked like that."

Neither did I.

---

---

I cried tonight thinking about this. It’s probably the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me in a relationship.

I let him set the pace for everything. He wanted me to meet his parents first, then he met mine. I met his friends first, and then after some hesitation, he met mine (red flag I didn't catch at the time). 

He invited me to Thanksgiving with his family, and I went along with it.

We sat down to eat lunch on Thanksgiving day, surrounded by his family at the kitchen table. His nephews had drawn everyone placemats on paper, and they wrote a poem on his placemat for him. 

The poem had the word "love" in it. 

When my then-boyfriend read the poem out loud, he did not say the word "love." In front of his entire family, and in front of me, instead of saying the word "love," he laughed.

He shoved the paper off to the side, and no one said a word about it for the rest of the day.

Or ever.

I was there

I remember it all too well

---

I should have ended that relationship. He gave me 1,000 reasons to end it, and I stayed through it all. 

I wish I had known then what I know now.

I want to shout it from the rooftops to every man in the country right now: don’t take a girl home for Thanksgiving if you don't love her.

Don't give her hope that isn’t alive.

Let her spend the holidays with her family, where she's loved, wanted and appreciated, instead of her crying alone in your childhood bedroom afterwards.

What happened? You. That's what happened. You.

----

And you called me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I'm a crumbled up piece of paper laying here

Cause I remember it all 

They say all's well that ends well

But I'm in a new hell every time

You double cross my mind

You said if we had been closer in age, maybe it would have been fine

And that made me want to die

---

The thing that gets me about breakups? There aren't any consequences for bad behaviors, especially cheating.

Nothing bad happens to a guy when he cheats on a girl. Breaking up with a girl isn't a consequence, in my mind, because he just goes to the other girl to get what he wants.

That's what pisses me of the most about this guy. He humiliated me in front of his entire family, and he got away with it.

I know my life is better off without him in it, but it pisses me off that everyone in this story has a happy ending, except me.

The guy moved on, the girl he cheated with moved on. None of this even phased them, not even a little bit, not even at all.

I'm the only person that's still mentally scarred by this. 

That scar is not going to heal anytime soon. Maybe not ever.

---

So, Taylor Swift, thank you for releasing a 10-minute version of the world's best break up song, right when I needed to hear it.

When you're going through misery, I think it's pretty common to think that you're the only person in the world going through it.

And then every once in a while, you hear a song that changes everything. And maybe fixes you, a little bit, too.

---

 "All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor's Version)"

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold

But something 'bout it felt like home somehow

And I left my scarf there at your sister's house

And you've still got it in your drawer, even now

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze

We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

And I can picture it after all these days

And I know it's long gone and

That magic's not here no more

And I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all

Oh, oh, oh

'Cause there we are again on that little town street

You almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me

Wind in my hair, I was there

I remember it all too well

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red

You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed

And your mother's telling stories 'bout you on the tee-ball team

You taught me 'bout your past, thinking your future was me

And you were tossing me the car keys, "fuck the patriarchy"

Key chain on the ground, we were always skipping town

And I was thinking on the drive down, any time now

He's gonna say it's love, you never called it what it was

'Til we were dead and gone and buried

Check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same

After three months in the grave

And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you

But all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame

And I know it's long gone and

There was nothing else I could do

And I forget about you long enough

To forget why I needed to

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night

We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light

Down the stairs, I was there

I remember it all too well

And there we are again when nobody had to know

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath

Sacred prayer and we'd swear

To remember it all too well, yeah

Well, maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

'Til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there

I remember it all too well

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

'Cause I remember it all, all, all

They say all's well that ends well, but I'm in a new Hell

Every time you double-cross my mind

You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine

And that made me want to die

The idea you had of me, who was she?

A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

Not weeping in a party bathroom

Some actress asking me what happened, you

That's what happened, you

You who charmed my dad with self-effacing jokes

Sipping coffee like you're on a late-night show

But then he watched me watch the front door all night, willing you to come

And he said, "It's supposed to be fun turning twenty-one"

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it

I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it

After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own

Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone

But you keep my old scarf from that very first week

'Cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me

You can't get rid of it

'Cause you remember it all too well, yeah

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so

Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known

It was rare, I was there

I remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, you were there

You remember it all

Down the stairs, you were there

You remember it all

It was rare, I was there

I remember it all too well

And I was never good at telling jokes, but the punch line goes

"I'll get older, but your lovers stay my age"

From when your Brooklyn broke my skin and bones

I'm a soldier who's returning half her weight

And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?

Just between us, did the love affair maim you, too?

'Cause in this city's barren cold

I still remember the first fall of snow

And how it glistened as it fell

I remember it all too well

Just between us, did the love affair maim you all too well?

Just between us, do you remember it all too well?

Just between us, I remember it (Just between us), all too well

Wind in my hair, I was there, I was there

Down the stairs, I was there, I was there

Sacred prayer, I was there, I was there

It was rare, you remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, I was there, I was there

Down the stairs, I was there, I was there

Sacred prayer, I was there, I was there

It was rare, you remember it

Wind in my hair, I was there, I was there

Down the stairs, I was there, I was there

Sacred prayer, I was there, I was there

It was rare, you remember it

Wind in my hair, I was there, I was there

Down the stairs, I was there, I was there

Sacred prayer, I was there, I was there

It was rare, you remember it

--

This blog post is what happens at 2 a.m. the same week you find out that you're having surgery over Christmas break for a non-life threatening, but very life irritating problem. 

Let me have my moment of misery. 

I'll get better. Eventually.