Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Beauty is Only Skin Deep - Our Faulty Perception

This video reminded me about Austin's post "Bringing Sexy Back" and so I decided to share the video with everyone.

All people should see this video - but especially teens and pre-teens. Beauty is only skin deep. This woman was beautiful at the beginning, beautiful after the make up, beautiful after the hairdo, but they still felt the need to "fix" her.

As the video says, no wonder our perception of beauty is distorted.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Help Seeing the Obvious

Sometimes you just need help seeing the obvious. A good T session can be much like a Seeing Eye Dog, helping you find your way and navigate the dark and lonely path of healing. Last evening, I had such a session. We discussed this incident here.

Three points to me for raising the subject and discussing it. I did not go into the gritty details as I did here, nor did I use all that language. Writing it out was one thing, saying it another. But I didn't feel the need to go into those details given the several days perspective I had on the incident. What I was really struggling with was an explanation as to why I would act so differently in the moment - why the split between Strong Attack Animal and Cowardly Hiding Girl?

The Answer is ...................... Shame.


I wasn't ashamed of my feelings about politics, racial issues, injustice in the world, legal topics or anything like that. I wasn't ashamed of defending my property and my stuff. I was ashamed of my body and the abuse, my reactions and lack of reaction. So I didn't speak up. Shame silenced my otherwise mouthy response.

Well duh. Why couldn't I see that?

We talked about my daughter's mouthiness and about the times when she acts different. Mouthy at home. Angel at school. Outgoing when meeting new kids, shy when she accidentally does something. They other day she accidentally ran into someone at the party and hurt them. I called her over and reminded her to go down the inflatable slide on her bottom and one at a time. I pointed out that she had run into her friend and needed to say Sorry. She hid and cried. I explained it was an accident - she hadn't even realized she did it. Why did she cower? Shame. Did she have anything to be ashamed of? Absolutely not - it was an accident. Not her fault.

My daughter had misplaced me. Woah. What a connection. I had no reason to feel shame over what happened. Not my fault. Shame silenced me like it had my daughter. Silenced me when I had no responsibility for what happened.

And this, my friends, is the value of therapy, and why we pay trained professionals. Sometimes we need someone to point out the obvious. What a freeing feeling. And a lesson learned - next time I'm struggling with something, I need to make an appointment and talk about it. Because there might just be an obvious answer I'm missing.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Too Much Cake

This is the cake I made for Bugaboo's First Birthday. Husband helped with the decorations. We had his party on Saturday. A very small party, but fun. It was ball-themed. Footballs, baseballs, soccerballs. He loved it. One of his favorite games is rolling a ball back and forth. He enjoyed the cake - more than the icing, but we got some good pictures.

We had cake on his actual birthday, then two cakes (one vanilla, one chocolate) on Saturday. I took Munchkin to a friend's birthday and had cake there. Then Sunday (today) is my birthday so we had cake again. I think I'm cake-ed out.

We went to an outdoor historical festival today. We've gone most every year. It was fun. Lots of good food. Munchkin and I raced in some old-fashioned games. Plank-walking, paint can races, barrel races, sack races and more. Between that and the inflatable jump house at friend's party, I'm tired and sore.

Tomorrow is Day 1 of Diet. I now weigh what I did when I delivered Munchkin. I am 5 sizes up and very out of shape. Bugaboo hit 1 so it is time.

I can not believe it has been a year since Bugaboo was born. He's scooting around and pulling up. He's simply adorable. I love that he loves to snuggle and hope he doesn't grow out of that soon. I ~think~ I'd like another but DH says no, and given his unemployment he's probably right.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

You Dumb ****

TRIGGER WARNING - very foul language; somewhat abuse-descriptive

Major flashback this morning. Haven't had one of these in awhile. I was able to stay more "with it" which made it interesting because I could understand the process a bit more.

Munchkin has been mouthy lately. Typical 5 year old stuff but Husband and I are trying to nip it in the bud. This morning I told her to get dressed. She yelled, "No I have to brush my teeth first or I might get toof-a-pace on my pretty dress." Good point, but her delivery needed some work. I responded, "fine, get dressed but watch your tone young lady. That was disrespectful."


I have a quick temper. I stomp feet with the best of them. Complete with hand on hip, pouty lip and defiant look. I also know it means going straight to my room where I can stomp to my heart's content...but there is no one to watch. When I disagree with Dad, he tells me I'm talking back. I have heard a few 4-letter words, but not many - and I've never used them.


Mom, Toilet, Sister and I have lived in the apartment for a year and it is time to move into the House which will become known as the House of Horrors. It's been a rocky year adjusting to new rules and new personalities. My temper is still quick but I've learned to match wits and words with Toilet. I do not get accused of being mouthy. Actually, I think he likes it.

Toilet pisses me off and I tell him to get his dirty hands of my TV. Dad told me that the TV belonged to Sister and me. It was a new TV, complete with a remote control (which was a big deal then). Mom and Dad couldn't decide on how to divide it up in the divorce so it went to us kids. Toilet wouldn't let me watch what I wanted so I told him to get his hands of the remote. This was a common occurrence. Some times he'd just walk off to the other room. Other times he'd unplug the TV and tell me I couldn't use his electricity. Still other times he'd wrestle me for the remote.

Four letter words were common. "You spoiled bitch," he'd call me.
"Asshole" was his name long before he became Toilet.
"Shut the fuck up already," was commonly yelled when us kids got too loud.
"Pussy, pansy, wuss" were names we were called when we whined or complained.
"Bastard" was another favorite to call him.

I had no trouble asserting myself in an argument. I called him every name under the sun. Mom set down a rule after many months. We could still curse, but weren't allow to call someone a curse word. So I grew inventive. No long was he a "fucking idiot." Now, I said, "that was a fucking idiotic thing to say."

I saw Toilet and I as equals in arguments. Well, I thought he was pretty dumb actually. He was full of himself and came off as arrogant, thinking he was intelligent and knowledgeable about everything. He would argue about every news story. But I soon learned it was all bark and he had nothing intelligent to say. He just covered up his ignorance with a loud voice and foul language.

<<>> Then there was the other dichotomy.....

With the abuse, I became mute. Gone was the angry girl who would have told him to "keep his fucking hands to himself." I lay there silent. Doing as directed, sometimes without being asked. I was cooperative, acquiescent. Where did the Assertive One go?


"I'm up here."
"No, UP here."
"Yeah, here. Know how in your memories, you see things from above. As if you're hovering over your right shoulder? Yeah that's me. I'm up here."
"Actually - there are two of us."
"Yeah, Two. Why two? I yell at him. All those words you would yell if you hadn't lost your voice. Things like 'get your bloody hands off me.' and 'what the hell do you think you're doing.' and 'pull this fucking car over now before I beat the shit out of you.' I yell at him for you."


"Why are you yelling at him? He's not going to listen."
"Me? I'm the other one. Assertive One part two. Only I yell at you."

"Yeah, you. Because you need it."
"Wake the fuck up out of your fog. What are you doing you dumb fuck?"

"Snap out of it. Don't just freaking lie there. Kick him. Move. Walk away. Scream. Yell. What the hell are you doing? Do you want him to keep doing this or something?"
"This is all your fucking fault you dumb bitch. Why didn't you do something? What are you going to do now, huh? Get up and stop crying. You asked for it, you idiot. Get over yourself. No one will believe you now. As if he could have kept the car on the road if you had fought back. If it was that bad, you would have fought and crashed."

And so as I stood in the bathroom this morning, I was struck by the chasm between the two personalities of my childhood. Assertive versus Compliant. Taking on the World versus Letting the Word Run Over Me. It's still that way now. Assertive on the outside when dealing with non-me stuff. Complaint on the outside when dealing with personal stuff.

And a bit about the process - as I flash backed, the vision of me in the mirror got hazy and dim. I walked in the other room, grabbed a piece of paper, scribbled out some words - personality - assertive - compliant - dumb fuck. Folded the paper up, put it in my purse. Took a deep breath and walked into the bathroom to get ready. Saw myself fine in the mirror.

About ten minutes later I was in my car driving to work. I reached for a cough drop and felt the paper in my purse. What is that? I remembered having a panic attack. No recollection whatsoever about what. It was a wall. I knew there was something. I knew I had written something down. I started to push just a little bit, but the darkness closed in and I got sweaty. Stopped because I was driving and it wasn't safe to go further.

So I'm here at work now. Unfolded the paper. Took a deep breath. Gathered some distance. Maintain a healthy distance and write it out. Get it out now - process it later. And with that I'm done and off to get coffee. Counseling session next week - maybe I'll find some answers there.

Monday, September 21, 2009

An Update

It's been a tough adjustment trying to get used to having Husband at home, Munchkin in kindergarten and Bugaboo sort-of crawling all over. Every time I get into a routine, things change again.

* Bugaboo turns one this weekend and I turn.....another year older ;) I can not believe he is one already. Where has time gone? He is not crawling, per se. He scoots across the floor on his bottom with one foot tucked in and using his hands. Kind of like a little chimpanzee. Every so often he will lean forward and rock as if he will get up on his knees, only to fall back down. He's pulled up a few times too. Not interested in walking yet. Fine with me because he is SUPER fast anyway. We've been really busy chasing him and baby-proofing the house.

* Munchkin is enjoying kindergarten now, after a rough few days. She read her very first book to me. Her favorite thing to do lately is to spell things to me. When I ask her questions, she spells out "y-e-s" or "n-o." She loves her brother - a little too much. I find a constant "put your brother down NOW" coming out of my mouth.

* Husband is officially out of work. His severance expires this weekend. However our daycare called and he is doing some odds and end work for them which is deducted off our daycare bill. While he was there, a lawncare service asked him about picking up some work through them. All of which will help while he seeks a new full-time job. Our unemployment here is twice the national average and there is zero by way of manufacturing jobs (his skill area) so every little bit helps.

* Sister is doing okay. I miss her. We've not seen each other since July and won't be able to get together until Thanksgiving.

* I joined up with some wonderful ladies on a mommies group that I belong to, in an effort to lose this baby weight. There is no money for new clothes (even new, used clothes) and I fit in nothing. I am just about where I was when I delivered Munchkin so it's time to get on the ball.

* I was almost grateful to see TOM this morning. Finally an answer as to the moodiness, bad skin and desire to eat all that is not nailed down. Since I'm still nursing, there is no rhyme nor reason to my cycles so it's only in hindsight that I can say "aha, that's why I'm such a witch." It also explains why I wanted to do nothing but sleep all weekend and my having a cold. I'm always more susceptible to getting sick around these times.

* After six months of asking, I finally have a key to the church gym. No more excuses - now I can work out. Exercise improves my attitude, my mental health and my body image. A better body image helps with the SI urges and acts.

* I cut my hair. I've had it shoulder length or longer since 6th grade, except for 1 brief hair cut about 10 years ago. It's pretty much been the same hair style too. So in a fit of passion I went to the hairdresser and had it cut off. It's layered now too. I like it. Friends either like it or are lying to me. Husband does not like it (but who asked him?).

* Finally, after being in our house 19 months, I put pictures and knick-knacks up. I didn't realize how much of a difference it would make. My mother's house was always stark - nothing on the walls. Dad's house was the same, but that was because he hated nail holes in the walls. It felt good to hammer those nails in. I also assembled a bookshelf for Bugaboo's room. I might need to find some more assembly projects. I kind of enjoyed hammering nails!

That's all for now. Off to work on my blog carnival post.

Blog Carnival - reminder

Don't forget, everybody: The next Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse will be over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 23rd. He's only got a handful of submissions so far, so let's get those in! Here's the submission form.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Singing the blues - National Pity Party Day take 2

It all started here. If you have posted your on entry, link to this entry in your post, and then comment on my post here with your blog site.

Why you should Pity Me - AKA Why I Deserve a Pity Party

AKA Why I am Pitiful

You would think that since it has been two years since the last Pity Party day that I'd have some progress to report. Not much. I think that gives me the Pitiful excuse for a Survivor award right there. In summary,

  • I'm really parentless now, or at least halfway, given that dad died. Oh but I've inherited some new siblings. Four adopted ones. One additional that Step-Monster may have given up for adoption. And another older one that may or may not exist. That's not counting the three step-siblings (Toilet's children) that have re-connected with me on facebook in the last week. I've not written about those yet, because frankly, all these people coming out of the woodwork is making me nuts. So I guess I'm up to 7, maybe 9 sort-of-siblings.

  • I haven't lost any pets lately so that's good.

  • I still have trouble with story-telling, but mostly because my memory is worse than swiss cheese. Let's face it, when your life is the tallest of tall tales, it's no wonder I have trouble discerning fact from fiction.

  • The school loans are now in the 5 figures. Go me!! But my husband lost his job so they aren't getting paid any time soon. I was hoping that, against the odds, I'd inherit on some long lost insurance policy or dad would have forgotten to change his will, and I could pay them off with his death. But not so much.

  • I'm down on the medication front. Only one pill now. My self-esteem is getting a bit better. My husband is still living with me, although more like roommates some days. I did have a SI free period of almost two years but relapsed in May and haven't gotten myself back together yet.
  • Pity me because at present I am working on my daughter's kindergarten family tree project and I can't find enough make it simple we're keeping it to immediate blood family. And the little line next to my mother's name for her spouse, is getting whited out.
  • Pity me and my sister. We totaled it up and we're in the $40,000 mark for losses directly attributable to abuse. And that is just the major medical, therapy and hospitalizations. Not counting all the other consequential damages.

And because this wouldn't be a truly soul-searching post without a little self-disclosure......pity me because I'm being sued. Some &*)@%$ old client from my old job is pissed of because I don't have a magic want to wave and make someone do what they ought to do. I tried to explain to her that slavery went out a long time ago and I couldn't force anyone into anything. The &*)@%$ didn't like that answer so she sued me. The old work picked up the tab on the deductible so no real dollars out of my pocket. But I'm burning through sick/vacation time here to go to mediations, depositions and court dates. I despise being on this side of a lawsuit. The damage to my reputation and my self-esteem is great. And it's so super embarrassing that I've not talked about it with hardly anyone, or even written about it here.

AND THAT is Pity Party Day. Thanks for reading. If you've posted your own excerpt, be sure to post a comment with your blog address so people can travel the virtual highway to your post. In your post, link back here so we have an interstate of connectiveness.

Saying it better than Me

Please read Ethereal's post here - it is brilliant and says better than me what I feel.


Just a Reminder that Pity Party Day is tomorrow. So get your posts up. Include a link back to my blog. Then leave a comment on my pity party post if you participate so people can link to your blog.

More info is here.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Attack from the Grave

I requested a copy of my dad's estate from the county clerk. I was first told that there was a Will on file. Sister and I knew that - the boys had told us that there were constant threats to "change the will." Dad also told Sister and I he changed his will to leave everything to us and the other kids in 2002 when we had that brief reconciliation.

The first page of the document lists his wife Rita as the executrix and then lists all the "living issue". this is a document that was filled out by Rita when she qualified as executrix. Alex and Ned (the oldest and youngest boy) and Tina (the daughter) are all listed with dad's last name. But Adam (the middle son) has the last name I remember, which is the same as the uncle. Sister and I are listed with our maiden names but our current cities of residence. So Rita knows where we live.

The will itself is dated June 1993. Everything, as I expected, is left to Rita. If she had pre-deceased him then everything would have gone, in trust, to the uncle for Rita's four children. In the body of the will, written in 1993, they are listed as all having Rita's last name. Down further it says "It is my express intent not to make any provision in this My Last Will and Testament for my two children , Sister and Me."

The first thing I noted, is that my name is spelled wrong on the listing of the surviving issue. No biggie there - Rita probably didn't know. Then I noticed the date - June 1993. Rita and Dad married in January 1993. I hadn't even graduated high school when the will was written. I was still in some phone contact, albeit about financial aid stuff for college, with Dad. And he had written us out already? Next I notice that in the body of the will, my name is also spelled wrong. My name is spelled uniquely. I've never met anyone with the same spelling. My sister's name is more common, but is also spelled wrong - an obvious typo. Later, the will references that it is dad's intent to adopt the four children.

Why the name issues? Is Rita so pissed at Adam that she deliberately referred to him as his pre-adoptive name. I was right (knew I was) - despite his being the third child, I know he has a different dad. The others have the same father. It explains why he has always been treated badly and is the black sheep of the family. I wonder why the body of the will doesn't use that name. I called Sister and she thinks maybe he went back to his birth name at marriage, but I don't think so give the high regard he has for my father.

Sister says she knows he changed the will. I know that Dad asked for our legal names (whether we kept our maiden name or dropped it when married) and our social security numbers, to change his will and insurance beneficiaries. I think he probably did that.

I don't doubt that we were disinherited again. But I do doubt that this 1993 document is the latest. Will I do anything about it? No - I talked to my relatives and they insist the lake property passes outside the will. I'll trust them. Sure it would have been nice to inherit enough to pay off the school loans. But not realistic.

It does really bother me that his document is dated less than 6 months after Dad kicked us out. I guess he had forgotten us already. Written off. Dust wiped off his feet.

It hit me harder than I expected. But I'm coping - the way I know how. It works....for now.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sitting Down with Dad

Austin wrote about a therapy session in which she explored her relationship with her father. My stomach churned when I read it. I had to come back to it and I knew that it would become a topic I would write about.

Austin wrote - "
Dr. D wanted to know what it would be like if I took my father up on his offer to have a relationship. I was rather blunt with my answer. It would be odd to sit across from a man who knows I too slept with his wife, I being his daughter. Could he even look me in the eye if he found out? Would he blame me? Would he call it rape or would he just be so disgusted he couldn’t even look at me?"

I could have written the same thing. I ~think~ I know that Dad knew about the abuse. It's one of those weird, floaty pieces of knowledge where I know but it is too hard to accept so it doesn't feel like I really know. I know my Dad's serious girlfriend, Jill, (pre-marriage to Rita) suspected something. Dad didn't heed her suggestions to dig further and he didn't ask any questions. Sister told Dad later on - as she moved out of the house and after I was gone. Or at least that is how I think it goes. Like I said, it is fuzzy.

When I ran into Dad later (after marriage to Rita and being "exiled") he acted as if it had only been a few days since we had seen each other. He said nothing about any issues. So in some ways I have the answers to Austin's questions - on the outside Dad would play the "it's all okay" game.

I guess I expected something different - after all I chose Mom's side - siding with the adulterous woman (Mom) seemed less evil than siding with the wife-beater (dad) . But to Dad, it appeared I chose the one who left him for his ex-best friend (Toilet). And not only did his ex-best friend win his wife, but his daughter too. I have to wonder how that affected Dad? Did he see it as my choice or a role I was forced into? Later he said that he was mad and hurt that I "chose Toilet over him to walk me down the aisle." Really? By that time the touching part of the abuse was over and everything else seemed okay. I was so grateful about that minuscule molecule of safety that I thought life was grand. Dad hadn't been around for years. So I chose Toilet which made Mom happy and from the outside, looked normal. Gotta play the "normal game" after all.

Austin also said "I want to lash out at him. I want to say hurtful things like, “Hey did you know your three year old daughter picked up where you left off? Where were you?” I want him to feel guilt and to have images in his head he can’t get out. I want to slap his psyche, kick him in the conscience and knock him dead in his manhood. I want him to feel a tiny bit of what I felt for so long. But why? Why this anger for a man I don’t really know? It all comes down to “should.” He should have been there." That hit me hard. I had the opportunity to ask those questions. I did not take it. I regret that in some ways. I wanted to know why he didn't ask questions. Why didn't he have the "good touch/bad touch" talk with me? Why did he leave such an important thing to mom? I also question whether maybe Toilet's ex-wife warned Dad about some of the signs and issues with their children. I remember having one talk we had about sex - it was the "safe sex" lecture. He gave it at Jill's insistence, I think. It was awkward but he did good. We had that talk in the car - good because we didn't have to look at each other.

I remember mom, after I disclosed the abuse to her, telling me I had a choice. I could stay there and stay quiet or tell and go live with Dad. We all assumed that telling meant Dad would gain custody. Dad wasn't that bad. Why didn't I do that? I play the what if game - what if I had told Dad then? I think maybe Dad would have gotten violent - not in my defense but in his own anger. To Dad, life was a game of a power struggle. This would have given him the advantage. I might have gotten counseling because that would have been the thing to do - but no sympathy. There would have been a criminal trial, with lots of publicity. Dad would have relished the role of "rescuing."

I have to wonder why he didn't assume that role then? At least on surface. It's a confusing web in my head. Did he not know and that's why he didn't take on the role I expected - the rescuer, look at how great I am by scooping in and saving my children. Or did he know and choose to ignore. I guess I'll never really have answers. Which leaves me for years to mull over the questions.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

My "Baby" Started Kindergarten

It has been a World of Crazy here at the Enola House. I was glad to see Perfect's blog post today. She verbalized exactly what I'm going through and feeling. I hadn't been able to connect the dots though between my emotions and my past issues. She did a great job of that.

Munchkin did good the first day of school. Husband and I took her to the bus stop and let her get on the bus. She has a youngish male bus driver. He is new. I turned her over to him. Major panic. My husband and I followed the bus to school. We went in and brought her huge bag of supplies in. We turned around to go walk her off the bus into school. She was already there. Full of smiles. She had a great day. Friday was good too. We had a nice weekend.

Monday was the first day my newly-laid-off husband was home. Good timing since Bugaboo got sent home sick (ear infection). Munchkin decided staying home with Daddy on Tuesday sounded better. She cried for an hour Monday night not wanting to go to school. She said she was bored and the day was too long. Turns out she was placed in the wrong bus line the afternoon before - the driver caught it. But it upset her. So, Husband drove her on Tuesday. She bawled and had to be pried off him. He thought it would help to have her call me at work. So I get a call from her sobbing. I can't even understand her. I hung up and just cried. We emailed the teacher who has been great. We had a friend who teaches a grade higher check on her. Today was a bit better, by all reports.

So those are the facts. What are the feelings? I hear my mom's voice when, after an hour, I have to extricate myself from my daughter's bed where she has been crying, so I can shower, pack lunches, nurse the baby and get to bed. I hear my mom saying, "I don't have time for this. I have stuff to do." In the morning, I talked to her on the phone for 15 minutes. Then she needed to go into class and I needed to get to a meeting. I hear my Mom's voice again "I'm at work - I can't be bothered." Munchkin begged me to come to school to eat lunch. Parents were asked to wait a week. So, I did schedule that for next Wednesday. She wanted me to drop her off and pick her up. But I can't - because I need to save all my sick/vacation time - when Husband starts a new job, he likely won't have sick/vacation time for awhile and I'll be the one staying home with sick kids. But I hear mom's voice, "Work comes first."

Rationally I know my mom took things beyond the extreme - beyond the legitimate needing to go to work and do legitimate things. In kindergarten I was expected to get up to an alarm clock and get myself ready and downstairs for breakfast, by myself. My daughter sets an alarm clock because she thinks it is fun. But the time between the alarm and snooze is designated as snuggle time. We brush our teeth, wash our faces and do our hair together. We eat breakfast together and talk about our days.

At fourth grade, I was expected to wake up in an empty house - parents already gone to work. I got myself and my first grade sister up, dressed and walked around the neighborhood (1/4 mile) to a friend's house to wait until it was time to get on the bus. Mom wouldn't drive us. Then I walked back to get the bus - alone. My daughter is walked to the bus stop and someone meets her at the bus in the afternoons. Even though the stop is 5 houses up and we can see it from our driveway. Lately someone has driven her to school and picked her up.

My mom ranted and raved about the forms that were sent home at the start of school. She yelled about school supplies and the costs. She never took us to school the first day or was much interested in meeting the teachers. We took Munchkin to orientation and open house. She and I made a "date day" over supply shopping. And I must be crazy, because I secretly love filling out forms.

So intellectually I know I am not my mother. But I also know that my life was decently normal up to when I started school. It was all downhill after that. School was such a huge part of my young life, that many of my issues and bad memories relate to school. School was both a torture (being different and odd) and a blessing (escape from home). I had a huge peacemaker role to play between school and my mother who hated being told what to do (even to fill out a form).

Sending my daughter to school is scary. The fact that she cries and doesn't want to go makes it worse. Mix in my memories and it has been a rough week. I've cried every day.

We are off to the beach for Labor Day and keeping Munchkin out of school. Then she is off for the holiday Monday. I am hoping we can both re-group. I also have a T-session next week so maybe I can get some "expert" help.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Heads up for National Pity Party Day

It's coming - Celebrate with us. See here for the origin. And here was the first edition. I missed the second one because I was in the hospital having my son. Austin says that's no excuse!

As the original host of Pity Party today, and with the agreement of Austin, I am moving Pity Party day to Sept 15th. Why? Because I'm reclaiming the original date (Sept 27th) as one of celebration - that's my birthday and I don't want to wallow in pity this year.

So the second Pity Party day will take place Sept 15th. Be here or be square!!

And remember -
On Pity Party Day, you post on your blog your reasons for having a pity party. No self-deprecation. No justifications. No objectivity. No rationalizations. Just straight out whining. You can start with, "I'm pitiful because..." or "You should pity me because...." or my favorite "I'm whining because........". Then there is the "poor pitiful me........" No kicking into self-protection or survival mode. To quote Austin, "just lay it all out there."

AUSTIN SAYS - I think it should be serious pity if we really want it to be. I mean for real, not trying to be politically correct and stuff like that. Not trying to be a survivor for that entry. No worries that someone will think badly if we tell how we really feel about life as a survivor.

I agree with Austin - no "pity me because I have straight hair and I want curly" or "I really wish I could afford a 2000 square foot house instead of just 1,200". This is serious stuff folks - the bare your soul, let's get dirty.