Hiking is Awesome

  
Look at my gimpy happy smile!   I love this shit!

Today I did Wasootch Ridge!  It wasn’t so hard – very doable.  Something I’ll take my girls on – if they will ever come hiking with me again (ūüėĀ) …

I took off Stampede from black out partying – as you can likely gather from my last post – my marriage is 1 blackout away from being over.   As MUCH as they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree … I’d rather sort of break the trend / not become the clich√© – for obvious reasons other than the fact that my husband is a total babe:

  
He’s so cute. 

Ok!  So solo hiking!  I’ve got the Girls Guide to Solo Hiking:  

1.    Be that person with tunes on the trail – why?  When you are huffing and puffing up the incline you are less inclined to shout to warn bears – because you have no breath!    

2.   Sing as loudly and proudly as possible.    Today I pretended I was in my own docu-musical!   It was glorious.   Nothing like a little help from Mimi, Iggy and Taylor to scare those bears away!   

3.   Carry Bear Spray – I for one do not think I would have the wearwithall to use it – but you don’t want those hiking people to be like “oh, I heard she didn’t have bear spray”. With that patronizing “she should know better” look.    You know that one.   

4.  Talk to yourself.   Who the fuck cares!    I also danced – poorly – no fucks given!!!  It was amazing.   

5.  Choose a hike you know you can do.  Mimi can only get you so far!

6.  Don’t do anything that requires a helmet like this scramble :

  
I was like – fuk yah!  I’ll do the scramble.    So I did the first one and looked to my right and was like: NOPE! 

   
  

7.   Advise your girls where you are going and what designer shit they get if you die.   Seriously.   Lisa those LBs are yours.   Leigh and V you are gonna have to fight over my sparkly Manolos.     Farrah – I feel like you were made for my black pointy toe Manolos.   Stacey, our sporty spice – you can have my gear – (I think we have the same board, sorry–) and decide who the trek goes to.   

Love,

Mere

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Alright, I’ll quit drinking for a while…

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This was almost me. ¬†Please pay close attention to the word almost. ¬†Even with my crippling low self esteem – I look better than that bitch, and I always leave my clothes on. ¬† All night. ¬†In bed. ¬†While passed out on top of my covers. ¬†Shoes sometimes off… sometimes.

So, as you can probably gander from my posts, I LOVE DRINKING.  I love Alchohol!  It tastes so good when it his my lips:

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Just call me Francine the Tank. ¬† Again, I’ve never gone streaking. ¬†It’s just that I lack the “off” switch which allows me to be responsible with alcohol. ¬† Kind of like Dori in Nemo I’m like “just keep drinking” instead of “just keep swimming”.

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My husband has literally had enough of Francine du la Tanque. ¬†He knows me well enough to know that I don’t have an alcohol addiction, I just have to FIX what is eating me with something more productive than alcohol. ¬† It’s the self-hatred, not the alcohol that is¬†straining¬†our marriage and my ability to lead the best life I could. ¬† I came across this quote the other day, and it made sense to me. ¬†As someone who is consumed by self-hate, I don’t really notice or register how my actions / inaction affect those around me.

I remember when my self-hatred began. ¬† I was 6 years old, we were at the court house, naturally, as my parents were in the middle of a nasty ass custody battle. ¬†(As they were from the time they divorced, until I was about 13). ¬† We had¬†just testified against Dad. ¬†I don’t remember what I said, or was told to say – more likely the latter – but we got out and dad crouched down for a tackle. ¬†We always tackled him. ¬† My sister ran (she was 4) and tackled Dad, but Mom held me back. ¬†The look of pain on my Dad’s face, is burned into my mind. ¬†I hurt him. ¬†I didn’t need to. ¬†WHY? ¬†I was obviously a bad person.

***Objectively, I can identify 100,000,000 reasons why I’m not a bad person, what the true situations were, etc etc – but whatever they were, let’s just stick to why I’m f-d up for now.***

¬†Continuing on in life – my villainous biological mother (she had ALOT of issues, which likely were not entirely her own fault, but still, for this story, she’s the villain) ¬†– told me that I was fat when I was 12 years old and that no one would be friends with me because of my fatness. ¬†She probably said something like “You’re fat, no one likes to be friends with a fat girl” – but I’m interpreting whatever she said how I registered it. ¬† She immediately put me on a diet, and so was the beginning of my eating disorder, that was off and on, hot and cold from ages 12 until I met my Husband in 2010.

My eating disorder, now that I am reflecting, was an excellent tool to control my self-hate. ¬†Like, don’t get me wrong, I still hated myself, but I had an effective outlet to deal with that self-hatred so that life could go on.

In 2010, after I met my Husband, I realized that it hurt him when I engaged in ED behaviors, so I stopped, went back to counselling, and tried to deal with life without some sort of crutch. ¬† The anxiety was overwhelming. ¬†One year before our wedding date, I had a melt down, I just felt like I couldn’t go on, my life was objectively awesome, but I hated everything and had no desire to get out of bed. ¬†I just felt like I was a big faker playing a role for everyone around me in my life. ¬† I’d had enough. ¬† I went and saw my doctor and got on some antidepressants.

The antidepressants saved my life (I mean it, I was really low) and for a short time, everything improved.  The crushing anxiety was lifted, I could sleep without the help of Valerian root.  Things were looking up.

Life was really weird without anxiety.  I was used to it.  It was really hard to be vulnerable without the shield of self-destructive behavior to defect me from dealing with my life issues that have been hanging around since I was 6 years old.

I was still in counselling, but the year leading up to my wedding, I was super sabotagey to myself. ¬†I didn’t deserve my husband, he was going to leave me anyway – I turned to booze. ¬†I started boozing HEAVILY. ¬†Sometimes I’d scale back – but for the most part, I was escaping the work that I needed to do by “having a good time”.

My Husband is a poster – boy for patience. ¬† However, his patience has finally run out. ¬†Faced with losing him and likely, my job, my friends and everything else that goes with alcoholism – we realized that I need to get a grip. ¬†I want to be someone’s mother in the next year or so – I don’t want to become the villain of their lives.

So, I’ve taken a hiatus from drinking. ¬† It’s going to be so hard, but maybe not as hard as I think it will be. ¬† I’ve got so much love and support from most of my friends (I love you gals!) and obviously from my Husband. ¬†With this new ‘fancy’ cocktail phase I’m sure that those adorable bartenders with their suspenders can whip me up something reeel good without booze in it.

Once I overcome that hump, I’m going to start dealing with the little asshole of self-hatred that I carry with me. ¬†So that I don’t fall into another avoidance trap of – I don’t know – closet binge eating or something. ¬†Although, I have already done the ED thing.

Self-Hatred is a real thing. ¬†I know I’m not the only one that carries it around with me. ¬†If you have some and you need someone to talk to about it, talk to me ūüôā ¬† We can pump each others tires and go through the paces together.

I’m currently trying to get through Un-Loved. ¬†It’s a super great book on getting over the hump of self-hatred. ¬†If my wicked counselor Anu gives me any reading material I’ll post it here.

Thanks for listening. ¬†Love y’all.

xo

Mere

Don’t Quit your Day Dream

  

Myself, and apparently 47 other people liked this photo from Canva today.   

I ALWAYS daydream!  Do you?   I think that is one thing I like about running or walking to work or just having the personality to pull off the “zone out”.

My husband always remembers his dreams – I only remember my day dreams.  

I do not day dream of winning the lottery or being the richest of the rich- although don’t get me wrong – I would take being rich, that would be sweet.  I actually dream of an enhanced me.

What do I mean?  Well – sometimes I daydream that this blog gets famous.  Sometimes that means that some celebrity endorses it or it might mean that some random at the store says “oh my god, I love your blog”

Sometimes I daydream about my future family how fucking cute my kids will be, how many kisses I will give them, etc.

Sometimes I dream about what it would be like to lose 10 lbs and be the foxiest MILF around.

Sometimes I daydream about taking a year off life to do a Yoga teacher training and really take the time to find a centre inside of me that grounds me and speaks to me.   

This is short but sweet – and It’s deffo a plug for day dreaming.   I day dream and you should too!

Love,

Mere

Drinking Wine Alone

 
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As I sit in between yoga and Pilates sipping on a mediocre glass of Ripasso at Gravity Cafe and Wine Bar – alone – I realize that this is what I needed all day.   And maybe more often. 

I’ve been crazy busy being a party animal in order to exercise my liver and body for pool season in Vegas.  I’ll let you know what this looks like:

Sunday – long run day – no wait, it’s shitty out – fuck! I fell asleep with pizza last night.  Okay.  Okay.   Spin class and Crossfit.  Okay, just Crossfit.  Or spin?   Fuck!  Ok I’ll just go for a run.  After this beer – for hair of the dog.  (Result – it depends on the degree of self loathing) 

Monday – new week – new beginnings! I’m going to definitely go to Crossfit and go for a run.   (Result: only Crossfit).  No booze today!  Eating healthy!  Go me!

Tuesday – god damn it I want a glass of wine!  Triple Threat Thursday!   Xfit run Pilates.  (Result:  not today)  I will drink wine today.  

Wednesday:  

Do you know what?  Forget this list.  Basically I try to drink and work out as much as possible before a big life event and end up static – status quo?  You know what I mean.

I usually just want to have some f-ing time alone.   With wine.  Here are the perils of drinking at home:

  1. You drink too much out of the bottle and your husband comes home and you know he is judging you. 
  2. You just say fuck it and drink the whole bottle and then hide it in the recycling.   Or just take it downstairs to the recycling.   But then take it out because you are worried that next stop is hiding vodka in the dryer.  
  3. Drink one glass of wine and torture yourself with how much you want more all night.   

Here are the pros for going or for wine yourself – alone – with a limited time period:

  1. You get alone time 
  2. You actually only have one glass
  3. You celebrate your self control 
  4. You celebrate how much self confidence you have for going solo.   Then you write a blog post about it.  Damn.

Ok.  Sidebar – there is a guy and a girl that are on a working date.   She is pretty and cool – I’m guessing she’s had too many 4 am shame texts and booty calls and is finally giving the marketing guy that she knows through friends of friends (how?) a chance.   

So he is helping her on her website.  She’s trying to see if he will stop talking about his pastor for 10 minutes long enough to get in a sinful kiss.  Or flirt.  Or anything. 

It’s so awkward.   I love it.  I wish I could stay longer to let you know how this goes down.    

This blog post sucks.  But yoga and taking yourself out for a drink and judging strangers is worth it!  Do it sometime! 

Love,

Mere. 

PS – he is now talking about how he had food poisoning in Disney World and now as a psychological aversion to Disney.    I want to stay… She still seems into it … 

Mereisms

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We decided to do a community garden.  I like the idea of gardening.  Smiling at the sun, whilst my hands are busy with the earth, something like this:

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With some planting, success and more sun and stolen kisses. ¬† The day of the first meeting, my Husband and I were obviously extremely hungover and late. ¬† We go into a church basement and I immediately am thrown back to memories of being a preachers child. ¬†Think about what you would think cheek pinching granny zombies would look like coming at you with smoked salmon crustless sandwiches. ¬†SHUDDER. ¬† After that there were a few awkward presenters and general disorganization that I’ve learned is essential to any volunteer organization. ¬† They were taking a poll on who wanted to help out: I was immediately (in my mind) like “NO!”. ¬†I do NOT want to build the boxes. ¬†I do not want to go to a meeting once a month to talk about gardening. ¬† I do not want to take charge of a newsletter. ¬†I just want to plant my shit and smile at my fellow gardeners.

I’m not even going to apologize for sounding as though I am a horrible person. ¬†I’m assuming that you have already passed your judgement.

I didn’t tell my husband until last weekend that I had burning resentment toward this gardening adventure I had signed us up for. ¬† Husband was just like HUGE DRAMATIC SIGH. ¬†I ignored him (healthy? who knows) ¬†but it ate at me. ¬† The next day, he brought up my lacking “stick-to-itdness” when we were talking about the golf lessons I’ve signed up for (which, in truth, I’m dreading, I suck at golf, I’m doing it for a) work and b) retirement).

On Monday, I sent Husband an email. ¬†“Hey babe – this “non-stick-to-it-ness” thing you ¬†brought up over 48 hours ago – do you think it’s a bad thing or a good thing? ¬† Husband replied “it’s sometimes good and sometimes bad, it’s just a “Mereism”.

Hence this post was born.

An “ism” is defined by Wikipedia as a noun when referring to a set of ideologies (mostly used in philosophy). ¬† Warning – I’m about to launch into an introspective dialogue.

I love this “Mereism” thing. ¬† It makes me unique. ¬†I’m sure that we all have our “ism’s” I think it would be cool to hear what other people’s “Ism’s” are.

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Mereisms:

  1. Overanalyze everything (there must be a deeper meaning? I must be missing something??);
  2. Take a shame over hang over to really reflect on all of my worst attributes;
  3. Overshare most things about myself;
  4. Give awkward hugs at all times;
  5. Feel extreme anxiety about starting anything new;
  6. Try and make people feel good about themselves always – because people are great! (unless you’re not great, I’ve tried to make you feel great, but you’re really just an asshole);
  7. Constantly bitch about “Guzzy” (my belly, that won’t get thin even though I eat hamburgers, pizza drink beer and wine??? ¬† I don’t understand…);
  8. Try to be as hilarious as possible;
  9. Definitely overbook myself so that I have and anxiety attack and cancel all my plans to cry at home in my room for a day. ¬†(it’s true).

There are likely more but there is a few!   I must go to work now and stop lollygagging here on this blog.

Love,

Mere

The F*CKING No Cussing Club

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Today, I was inspired by my coworker, who I affectionately nicknamed Dickface.¬†(no, he doesn’t have a dick on his face, no I will not post a photo to prove it…) ¬†He sent me a pop-up and asked me if he picked up starting sentences with “Like, Fuck” from me. ¬† I couldn’t deny it.

Ok. ¬†I just need to backtrack for a minute — here is the link to the photo from Amazon that I posted. ¬† Check out the titles of those books that come up along with this beauty. ¬† YIKES. ¬† As you can tell I’m not a Christian (don’t stone me… wait… do Christians still do that? ¬†Or do they just passively aggressively shame each other?) ¬†Anyway. ¬†I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. ¬† ¬†I think perhaps my next blog post will be titled “Why I’m an A$$hole” or something to that nature. ¬† I’m actually pretty nice….

So Dickface inspired me to look up from the rock-bottom hole of shame my language has become. ¬† Maybe that’s a strong statement. ¬†I shared an article¬†from Distractify.com¬†entitled “People Who Say F*ck A Lot are Hotter and Healthier”. ¬† It’s basic, but my share got more than the usual pity likes from people I consider true friends. (Thanks Mom!) ¬† ¬†That narcissism rush coupled with the low of being called out for my potty mouth led me to do some research into where the people stand on swearing.

On Debate.org the respondents were hugely in favour of expletives from time to time.   I read an article from Psychology Today outlining the mental health benefits from swearing, with encouragement to add more, if you should think of any, let me know.

Elle Magazine’s article¬†about the bad habit of swearing really spoke to me. ¬†I too, remember the first time I uttered a curse, it was behind some pine trees in the school playground. ¬†Myself and two of my best friends sat in a circle in the second grade and cursed. ¬†It felt so good to be bad.

I guess the deal is, that maybe I could cut back on swearing (among other vices) a bit. ¬† Too much of a good thing is a bad thing? ¬†I thought too much of a good thing is a good thing … as they say … you KNOW I’m going to look up that saying now… Alright, no. ¬†I don’t get the google results I want immediately, so forget it.

Back to cutting back on swearing. ¬† I found some “swearing support sites” such as the Cuss Control Academy. ¬† I found useful alternatives for swearing at work. ¬† I found 101 alternative swear words, which all sound a bit LDS to me. ¬†You can google them. ¬†For some reason that site is not loading for me. ¬†Maybe because they know I’m not ready for replacing my F*ck with “Fiddelsticks”

I don’t really know how to cut back. ¬†It’s not like a drinking or smoking habit wherein one might alot themselves a “two drink” max. ¬† I guess maybe the motivation is for my future minis’ (read: child) first word not to be “F*ck. ¬† That would be somewhat anticlimactic and probably conjure up a frosty pointed stare from the Husband.

I already, just typing about it feel the pangs of panic. ¬† First I give up swearing – then what? ¬†Do I learn another language? ¬†Will I just learn all the swear words and be living in a secret world of language filth? ¬† Hmm… not a bad idea.

Bye!

Mere

Adult Education & Poor Punctuation 

 

I took day one of 3 Blogging classes last night!   I’m so excited!!! Our instructor is Mike – the local blogger extraordinaire of Mikes Bloggity Blog.   There is so much cool shit out there to decorate your Blog for ALL of the OOH’s and AAHs.  I had to resist the temptation to try ALL of the things I learned about.   Too much, too soon.  Let’s not raise any expectations here!!

There is a WRITING INSTRUCTOR in my course.   Thank Jesus.   I need some serious help with grammar and punctuation.   I’m sure the Googlemachine could teach me, however I feel as though public shaming of my inability would be a better learning environment for me.

Alright.   So I wrote the piece above the night after I took the blogging course and then I had writers block for a week obsessing over what I would write next.    You know what?   Fuck it!  I’m going to write what I feel like until it turns into something…  Or not… 

  

You should follow the Fat Jewish – he’s hilarious!!!

Also.  I got a fringe:

   

 

It takes some getting used to since my usual ‘do is what my Airplane Boyfriend (that is his nickname – I’m not out fooling around on my gorgeous husband) accurately called it.   I just searched for 5 mins (ok – 5 seconds) in my photos and I can’t find a photo of the bun.   I’ll look harder later – but for now I want to binge watch Game of Thrones – Season 3 and play Candy Crush.  

 

 Which brings me to one last rant before I shut this random entry down!  There are rules to subscribing to Facebook and Asking Friends for Extra Lives.   (That’s the title of this rant):

1)  If anyone asks for lives and your receive a prompt to “send more lives now” – gain some Karma and spread the love.

2)  There is the opportunity to give lives when you fail a level!  

 

 

Be a hero!  Send some life love!   

3.   If someone does not send you as many lives as you feel you send them (maybe it’s more than one person) try not to hold a grudge.   Passively Aggressivly start a blog and write a post similar to this one and hope they read it and share a few lives ūüėČ

Good Night!!!!

Best,

Mere