what I did on my summer vacation

I have been on summer vacation for about 2 weeks now.  I made the very long trek home to Canada with my 4 year old son.  My husband stayed behind to supervise our money being sucked out of our house the installation of a new air conditioning unit.  I am not living in Little House on the Prairie.  I need air conditioning.

So, over my vacation I have spent lots of time preparing for this trip home.  It started with my son getting sick with a stomach bug.  A really gross, really long stomach bug.  Thankfully he was gracious enough not to puke or have diarrhea anywhere on public transportation.  He kindly waited until we were at our final destination (my mother’s house).  I felt so lucky I thought I should have bought a lottery ticket, but I digress.   Thankfully he is over it.

I’ve also spent time this vacation with my 92 year old grandmother.  I am very lucky to still have her.  She is my only living grandparent.  I love listening to her stories and savored the walks I got to take with her on the beach.  I only get to see her once a year now that I live down South, and it pains me to see how much older she looks each time I’m home.   I am thankful my son is getting to know her, after all she is his great grandmother.

The other thing I’ve done on my summer vacation is notice how much everything has changed in the town where I grew up.  Of course, change is inevitable, but I’m not sure how I feel about this kind of change.  Let me explain.  I grew up in a tiny, liberal arts university town tucked safely away in Eastern Canada.  My town was very Normal Rockwell.   We had one traffic light. Need I say more?   Each time I come home I recognize fewer and fewer people.  A whole new generation of people have moved into the town, and the town itself has focused more and more on the artsy fartsy liberal arts university students.  Of course, once upon a time I was one of those artsy fartsy liberal arts university students, but I was a chameleon.  I was from the town, so I could play double agent; both student and town person.  I think I was the only college student that could meet up with her dad on her way to the liquor store (under age of course).  Yes, being a townie had some drawbacks.

Each time I’m home I sadly feel less and less conflicted about leaving my little Norman Rockwell town.  For years, every time I had to leave to go back to the States I cried to the point of gagging.  I plotted my escape back to Canada, but unfortunately for me, moving back was never an option.  I started putting down roots south of the border, and well, life happens.

Now when I’m home I’m starting to think of ‘home’ as a place I visit, not a place I am invested in.  And I’m not sure how I feel about that.  In some ways I feel like a traitor.   In other ways,  I feel I’ve finally made peace with my decision to leave the motherland.   It’s a battle of the heart strings I used to suffer greatly from, but it’s getting a little bit easier.

Something else I’ve done on my summer vacation was visit my dad’s grave.    I am indifferent about it.  I probably should be some blubbery, weepy mess, throwing myself at the foot of the gravestone in some dramatic fashion, but I simply stood there, pulled some weeds that had grown up around it, said a quick hello, turned and left.  It’s still very surreal to me that my dad is a bunch of ashes in an urn, in a box below the ground.  I know those are the facts, but somehow, as I look at his grave, it seems impossible that it is his name on the stone.  It feels like I’m standing in a graveyard scene in a movie.

I’m spending time at my parents’ place at the beach.  They have a seasonal place that has been in our family for over five decades.   Unfortunately, the times, they are a changin’.  What used to be our own little private Shangri-La with a private lane, private beach  and only two neighbors  is quickly becoming red neck central. Long story short, the field in back of our water front property does not belong to us.  The owners have decided to turn their land into a campground.  Yes, you read that correctly.  A campground complete with over a dozen fifth wheel trailers, fire pits, yapping dogs, children running amuck and proprietors that, for lack of a better word, dislike us greatly.  There are some on going “issues” between us and them and they simply do not care that they are turning a profit on the backs of others.

In short, our little slice of private beach paradise is being overrun by the Griswolds on their family vacation.  And it sucks.   Our childhood summer place has become infested with ignorami  (is that a word? the plural of ignoramus?) whose noise, campfire smoke, barking dogs, and screaming children permeate every crevice of our territory.   It puts us all in a bad mood no matter how hard we try to ignore it.

So what did I do on my summer vacation?  I think I grew up a little.  I think I cut a few ties with my past and I think I am beginning to accept the roots I’ve put down for myself.

I am trying to cherish what is left of my time here at home, but I’m really starting to realize that home is where you make it.



This is probably going to be a downer post…just a small disclaimer incase you were looking for something witty or insightful.  Sorry, just giving you an early out.

I’ve used this space over the past 2 years as an outlet for grieving my father.  In the course of several posts I’ve vented, screamed, cried and bemoaned our sudden and tragic loss.  It was a Godsend for me to have writing as an outlet.  A grief therapist I saw told me to save my posts so I could revisit them if I needed to, to see how far I’ve come in the whole process. I’ve done that, and I am so happy I am no longer in the depths of despair I was almost 24 months ago.

Grieving is a very personal process.  Everyone does it differently.  There is no right or wrong. One of the facets of grieving I’ve dealt with is the feeling of helplessness.  Let me explain.

I called my mother tonight.  She lives a few thousand miles away in Canada.  The short version is that she is remarkably strong.  She has chosen to keep living even in the hardest moments.  She is amazing.  We have a close relationship and I call her daily.

Tonight when I called her it took her a while to get to the phone.  When she answered she seemed to be out of breath.  This is not uncommon because usually she is outside gardening or doing yard work.  When she answered the phone tonight, I immediately knew something was off.  She had been crying.

My four-year-old son and I will visit next week.  She is very excited and is eagerly preparing for our arrival.  Tonight she was repurposing an old bike for my son.  As insignificant as this may seem, for us it is a milestone.  Bike riding is something my father never got to see my son do, and this was a task he would have relished doing; cleaning up an old bike for my kid. He was a good guy like that, always tinkering, fixing, repurposing, trying to help others.  My mother is now faced with the arduous task of filling his shoes.

It broke my heart to hear her sobs.  It broke my heart to hear her say “Your father should have been doing this.”  Because she’s right.  He should be here, but he’s not.  He was taken from us much too young (age 60).  He only got to enjoy being a grandfather for 23 months.

The Pollyannas of my life harp on looking on the bright side.  Yes, they have a point.  We should be thankful for the years we had him.  We should be grateful he was able to experience the joy of being a grandfather.  And most days we are grateful.  We know the true meaning of being blessed.

But sometimes, even the strongest crack.  Grief comes in waves, and when a tsunami (like this one for my mum) hits, it flattens you.  It simply reduces you to a grieving blob.  And it’s ok to be a grieving blob.  It’s ok to crack.  We can’t stay strong forever.  We are human.  And my mother has been tremendously strong through this tragedy, in ways I could only hope to be.

Tonight, as roles reversed and I became the parent, patiently, empathetically listening to her cry, I felt helpless.  I can’t fix it.  I can’t do anything.  I am useless.  There are no magic words I can say, no magic wand I can wave to make it all go away.  I simply sat there and listened, offering support where I could.

So, I am traveling home in a few days to spend a few weeks with my mum.  We will muddle through the best we can. This is the third summer without my dad. We will quietly recognize what would have been his 63rd birthday and their 42nd anniversary.  We will walk the beach where he died, trying not to look at the creek where my mother found him.  We will watch my son ride his bike, the one that my dad should have been here to fix.  We will try to laugh and remember something fun about the time we had with him, but there is a huge crater where his place was.  There is a constant puzzle piece missing.

And I feel helpless.

gratitude Friday

I am sitting here in sweltering temperatures.  It is almost 100 degrees outside and my air conditioning has conked out. If you have any sense of who I am, you will know that this does not sit well with me.  I am Canadian. I was not built for heat or humidity.

However, as I sit here in my tastefully decorated sauna, I realize I have a choice.

I can either thank God I have a house to sit in and the means to call an HVAC technician, or I can sit here choosing to belly ache about how uncomfortable it is to live in 80 degree temperatures in my living room.

I am reminded that some people don’t have such luxuries.

Deep thoughts for a Friday, but oh, so true.

Putting first world problems in perspective.

Trying to find the humor in a situation- something I was unable to do mere months ago.  Trying to find grace, gratitude and patience.  Something else I was miles away from mere months ago.

Blessings are everywhere. You just have to look.

Happy Friday!


the other side of the dad coin

In the past week I have witnessed two friends’ marriages crumble.  One had already crumbled, and the ex husband was just arrested for not paying child support.  The other, who is in mid-crumble, had her husband arrested for domestic violence.

Two marriages.  Gone. Crumbled. Done. Finished.  Both have children.  So sad.

My husband has an ex wife.  For over a decade, we have been on the flip side of the dad coin.  Most of the time when you hear about ex husbands, dead beat dad comes to mind.  Of course, there are hundreds upon thousands of women out there who deal with awful situations and are forced to barely make ends meet due to lack of support from an ex husband. This post is in no way diminishing their plight.

But what a lot of people don’t think about is the ex husband.  Not all are bad guys.

My husband, is a good guy. (ok, I’m biased).  He pays his bills on time.  He is a good father and husband.  He was a good husband to his first wife too, but it was a different time and place and things just didn’t work out.  My husband has a son from his first marriage.  He has never, ever missed a child support payment.

In fact, my husband has pretty much been an open bank for the past decade.  Child needs money to go to camp.  Done.  Child needs money for school pictures. Done.  Child needs braces (twice because mother fell behind on taking child for orthodontic treatments)  done.  Child needs a band instrument.  Done.  My husband has never once denied his child any sort of financial aid.  He doesn’t deserve a medal or a parade.  He did what he was supposed to do… support his child.

What is not really advertised is the short end of the stick good fathers get from their ex wives.  For the better part of a decade, my husband has danced to his ex wife’s tune.  We have spent a decade organizing our lives around schedules for visitation only she could approve.  You see, a little thing like a custody agreement means nothing to my husband’s ex.  That is the reason why my husband drove over 200 miles round trip every other weekend just to see his son.  Because she is immune to compromise.  My husband’s phone calls to his son (in the younger years) would go ignored.  We were lucky if she told him that his dad called.   No Father’s Day cards were ever sent.  A relationship between father and son was never fostered.    When we tried several times to gain legal custody, we were road blocked by her.  All over money.  Greed won out and she was too greedy to give up a child support check.  For over a decade, my husband’s ex wife has used her son as a pawn, filling him full of blatant lies about his father, loosely setting boundaries and basically shifting all responsibility and blame from herself onto anyone else on her radar.

Fast forward to 2014.  We are two months out from my stepson turning 18.  He has not technically lived under his mother’s roof since October of 2012.  The past two years have been filled with drugs, arrests, and total debauchery.  He is a 17 year old living like a rock star, and is being enabled by other family members and friends.  We have spent the past two years researching and contacting all kinds of help.  The system is flawed and unfortunately we are not millionaires.  We are simply middle class people with good insurance, most of which is not accepted anywhere we’ve looked (at facilities that deal with problem, addicted kids).  To top it all off, my step son doesn’t want help.  He has layers and layers of anger that are oozing out of the drugs he is smoking.  And there is nothing we can do.  Trust me.  We have tried.  Everything.  And his mother looks on (and looks the other way).

And yes, we have continued to pay child support to her through all of this, even though he has not resided with her for the past two years.  (He is with his maternal grandmother who lives on the same street).

I’m sure your first reaction is “WHAT???” that is not right.  My sentiments exactly.  However, unless we are willing to pay some very hefty legal fees to change things (and why do it now with two months to go?) we must follow the letter of the law.  And the legal agreement says we have to pay her x number of dollars per month.  Most of which has not gone to the child.    Keep in mind, on top of paying his obligated child support, my husband has footed the bill for medical costs and other incidentals for his kid.  In fact, he has on several occasions, dropped work and family plans to drive 3 hours (one way) to deal with “situations” that have come up with his son.

But no one ever hears that side of it.

His ex wife continues to jab and poke at him.  He has taken the high road, and simply signed the checks and done what he could for his kid.  But you never hear about that.

My stepson needs a mental health evaluation.  It is up to his custodial parent to arrange it.  His mother refuses to do so, saying she is ‘busy’.  So, my husband attempted to set one up.  The agencies he dealt with require the custodial parent to initiate the process.  Dead end.  Wall.

And it makes me angry that women like this appear to live their lives immune to consequence.  She just skips along her way, trashing anyone who does not serve her needs, ignoring her flesh and blood and karma has not visited her. Ever. Not once.

And did I mention she is an educated woman? Yes.  She holds a masters in teaching.

Sad, isn’t it?

So, dear readers… do not feel sorry for us.  But please know, there is another side to the dad coin.  And we’re on it.



being good is so hard…

Tonight I went for a walk.  It is my third night in a row of walking briskly in my neighborhood.  I am trying to get back in the saddle, on the wagon, and anything else that symbolizes weight loss.  I’ve squirreled away too many nuts over the winter and my clothes do not fit me properly anymore.

I’ve always tried to eat well.  But I am human.  I have a sweet tooth.  And a savory one too.   Shoveling Heath Toffee bits into your face at 3 am in the throws of a panic attack while mourning your dead father tends to catch up with you and make your pants not fit anymore.

So here I am, ready to attempt to be a better eater and exerciser.  It is so hard.  However, I am inspired by the quote “If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you”.  I’m not sure who said it, but whoever did was really wise.  I read it on Facebook so it has to be true.

I’m starting slow. I used to run.  I used to do a lot of things.  That was almost 20 years ago.  I am older and more tired.  But I am trying to be good to myself.

And boy, is it hard.

I will attempt to keep you posted on my progress.

Wish me luck.

there but for the grace…

I am feeling very lucky today.  Not lucky in the sense that I need to buy a lottery ticket, but lucky in the sense of being blessed.  It’s out of character for me to publicly declare how blessed I feel.  Let me explain why I feel the need to do so today…

April 24, 2012 I woke up, got ready for work and dropped my kid off at daycare.  I thought I had the world by the seat of the pants.  The previous week my father had escaped serious injury from a horrific car crash.  We felt golden.  We felt blessed.  As I drove into the parking lot at the daycare high on emotion and feeling like it was going to be the best day ever, I saw a fellow mother struggling to get her then two year old son out of the car.  (both of our boys were 2 at the time).  He sobbed uncontrollably, refusing to get out of the car.  Luckily, I kept a supply of Teddy Grahams on hand for just such an occasion and managed to ply him out of the car with a treat.  His frazzled mother thanked me while my tantrum-free son looked on.  I felt like I had it all together.  I felt invincible.  For a few moments, all seemed right with the world.

By 3pm that same day my world shattered.  I received a call my father was found floating face down in a creek near his home. My mother found him.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, he experienced a ‘cardiac event’, fell in the water and drowned.  All a result of the aftermath of his car crash (stress, internal injuries).

Fast forward to today.  It is June 17, 2014.  I am over 2 years out from that horrible day.  I have learned to manage my grief (although I still have bad days). I have been humbled beyond belief.  I truly understand what it means to appreciate, communicate and validate love to my family.  I have seen the depths of despair.  I watched my life literally unravel.  It is a dark, terribly sad, shocking place I pray I don’t have to revisit any time soon.

And now I find myself in a place I almost don’t dare go… a feeling that all is right with my world.  I almost don’t dare breathe those words for fear I jinx my situation.  The same friend is once again in the throws of turmoil.  She recently escaped an abusive marriage and is attempting to sort out her life.  I’ve been trying in my own small way to help her with child care, moving etc.  It’s not much, but it has made me completely thankful for the calm and stability in my life.

Perhaps the difference between the morning of April 24, 2012 and the morning of June 17, 2014 is that I truly understand the meaning of blessed.  Back on April 24 I thought I knew what blessed meant.  My father had escaped a wrestling match with a tractor trailer virtually unscathed.   But this morning, as I sit typing this, I feel I completely understand the meaning of hope, faith and being blessed.  I feel like my experiences over the past 2 years have catapulted me into another level of gratefulness.  Even in the worst of my situation, I tried really hard to find something good.  As hard as I grieved, I believe I also learned valuable lessons from the whole process (despite almost losing my sanity along the way).

I’ve emerged from my family crisis humble, grateful, appreciative and able to prioritize what is truly valuable and important.  Or at least I feel I do a better job of those things now. I’m still a work in progress.

As I sit here waiting for a phone call from my friend to let me know what time she needs me to help her move, I am counting my blessings, and offering up thanks and prayers with so much emotion I feel myself getting teary.  I am truly grateful today that I have a safe, comfortable home.  I am truly thankful for my husband who is a rock and a stable force in my life. I am truly blessed that my son (so far) has not had his world ripped out from under him at such a tender age, as his friend (my friend’s son) is currently experiencing.  I am truly thankful for what I have.  And I am truly thankful for a reprieve from grief and sadness.  Because for so long I felt like the dark clouds would never part from our skies.  The blessings I count today are far more meaningful because I have seen the dark side.  I’ve seen and experienced tragedy.  I know what it’s like to have your world turned upside down. I’ve been on a roller coaster ride of emotion for two years.  And finally, it feels like the car I’m riding might be coming to the end of the ride (at least until the next crisis erupts)

That is not to say that I wish trouble on others, I don’t.  But today, from the very depths of my soul, I am able to say (and understand) the statement.. “There but for the grace of God go I”.



life in the slow lane

I am officially on summer vacation. Incase you didn’t know, I’m a teacher.  Today marks the first official week of my almost 2 month hiatus from crushing the dreams of ten year olds teaching.

Of course, in my house, life is life. And that means there is never a dull moment.  Even though we have a very small family, and I’d like to think we live life in the slow lane, there is enough ‘action’ to keep us on our toes.   In the words of Gilda Radner… “it’s always something”.

First, I spent Father’s Day helping a friend whose life is crumbling before her very eyes.  Out of respect and privacy for her situation, all you need to know is she is in the middle of a shit storm.  She has escaped an abusive marriage with her four year old in tow and has a gravely ill mother.  Her circle of friends is small and family is far.  Feeling helpless, I offered to watch her son while she got her affairs in order.  Luckily, her son and my son are best buddies so it worked out well.  I wish I could wave a magic wand and make her hurts go away, but I can’t.  All I can do is offer her kid a safe place and a Happy Meal.  Hopefully that is enough, for now, anyway.

During our play date the boys watched Frozen for the umpteenth time.  Never underestimate the power of Disney.  Our air conditioning unit literally conked out during the movie.  Why? It froze solid.  Damn you Queen Elsa… why must your powers transcend my dvd player?   I do not deal with heat or humidity gracefully.  I am Canadian, true North strong and free.  I was not built for humidity and heat.  I was built for climate control.   As I watched the thermostat rise in my tastefully decorated furnace house, I began to panic.  It was Sunday and most AC people are either not around or are willing to come help you for a very hefty price.  We compromised and made an appointment for first thing Monday morning.

My son sleeps upstairs and our room is downstairs.  I am not in love with this arrangement, but it is what it is.  When we bought our house we really didn’t envision starting a family.  Due to lack of air conditioning, the temperature in his room rose to a balmy 78 degrees.  There was absolutely NO way I was subjecting my four-year-old to that.  So, he ended up sleeping in our bed, where the temperature was at least a little more comfortable.

Around 2am I woke up. I’m not sure why, but I did.  I reached over to rearrange my son (who is prone to creating the letter H in our bed… my husband and I are the sides of the h, and he is the crossbar) and felt something wet.  Really wet.  Of course, he had wet the bed.  And of course, I had just changed the sheets.  Oh well, accidents happen.  As I attempted to lift him from his spot, I noticed my husband’s back was wet as well (L had been curled up next to him).  Moral dilemma- do I wake my sleeping, piss covered husband or let him continue his peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware he had been peed on?  Hmmmm.  It was a tough one, but I did the right thing and woke him as well.

So here we all were at 2am in hot, pee soaked bed.  My husband immediately jumped up and hopped in the shower, reenacting the shower scene in Silkwood.  Apparently a four year old’s urine is the equivalent of radioactive material.  That left me to strip the bed, throw the sheets in the washer and change my kid.  While in the midst of being up to my elbows in urine soaked sheets, my husband emerged from the shower and asked me if the mattress was wet (he was debating on whether to seek shelter on the couch). Um.  MMM.  Really?  Really?  Could you walk over to the bed and touch it? I’m a little busy here.

I just started to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

2am and I’m laughing all the way to the washer.

Husband retreated to the living room (by the way, the mattress was dry, he just didn’t want to chance it) and I snuggled back down with my son.  In our sauna of a room.  I kept the ceiling fan on, but as with everything, there was no happy medium.  The temperature fluctuated from sweltering to semi cool with the air of the ceiling fan blowing mercilessly directly on us.  So the rest of our night went something like this…. fan on… fan off… fan on… fan off.    It wasn’t pretty.

Fast forward to this morning.  I dropped my son off at daycare in favor of him being stuck inside all day long in stifling temperatures.  At least he can play with his buddies and be cool while I wait patiently for the AC guy.

So, this post is neither witty or insightful.  But it is my life.  In the slow lane.



the life I was meant to live

I’m sitting here, taking a break from baking.  My lemon bread just went in the oven and I’m decompressing while I mentally prepare to make brownies from scratch.  My house is semi clean, laundry is laundering and I am happy.

I never thought I would be able to admit this.  Maybe it’s the novelty of beginning my summer vacation and not being slotted and scheduled. Maybe it’s age.  Who knows.  But today, I am happy.

As I grew up I always felt a little different from the other kids.  I was always the mother hen, the one who cautioned others on the playground and later, in my high school years, was the one who made sure all my drunk friends had safe rides home.  I was smart and had friends, but I always walked with an air of caution and level headedness about me.  I was always the responsible one, which when you are trying to be popular and cool, is a curse.

Later in my university years, I dated a string of losers; the jock, the frat boy, all of whom treated me in ways I didn’t deserve to be treated.  And, like a dummy, I jumped through hoops.  I blame it on immaturity and lack of self confidence.  I always felt out of place, unable to enjoy the carefree days of being an early twenty-something, torn between loving a responsibility-free lifestyle and hearing my biological clock yearning to settle down.

Around age 28 I just gave up on finding a nice guy.  I decided to live for me.  I picked myself up, dusted myself off and started discovering things that made me happy.  Sure I was lonely, but I just assumed I was destined to be the proverbial cat lady (sans cats) and if I didn’t make myself happy, who would?

And then, I met my husband.

We’ve been together 11 years, married for 9.  We have been through more in our short married life than some couples experience in a lifetime of marriage.  Ex wives, death of a parent, financial disasters, illness, accidents, children.  We have lived a lot of “life” in less than a decade.

Somehow, in all of that, I discovered the life I was meant to live.  I was just meant to be a wife, a mom and a teacher.  No more, no less.  I am most comfortable when I am making my house a home.  I am happy when I am cleaning, baking and making a life for me, my husband and son.  I am happy staying in on a weekend to watch Frozen for the umpteenth time. I delight in seeing the look on my son’s face when my husband and I take him on an outing to experience something new.  I like being part of a silly little family.  It’s not always easy and fun, but it’s where I’m meant to be.

And, I am happy.

it’s a new day

Today is my first official day of summer vacation.  Today is the one day of the year I relish being a teacher.  However, I am not doing anything outrageously selfish and indulgent.  I dropped my kid off at daycare so I can scour my house.

I love the smell of Clorox in the morning.

It’s a new day and I am happy to be schedule free.


do you smell smoke????

It’s Tuesday kids… time for a rant… today’s topic… Facebook- the virtual de-friending machine….

I know I should not be upset over a Facebook defriending, and I’m not, really, but what I am slightly disturbed at is the blatant lies people tell and expect me to believe it.

Let me explain….

I was raised to be polite.  I was raised to be inclusive.  I was raised to consider others’ feelings.  I was taught the ‘Golden Rule’.  And somehow I foolishly believed that if I truly treated people the way I wish to be treated, they would do the same.

Apparently that was lie #1 my parents told me.  Don’t get me started on Santa Claus.

I noticed tonight that I’ve been “de-friended” on Facebook by 2 people.  They are my neighbors.  Now, last time I checked, I have done nothing but wave at them when they passed me in the neighborhood. (Disclosure- I used ALL fingers while waving)  Of course we are not close, but we are NEIGHBORS and I’ve been good to them on many occasions. Invitations to bbqs, baby shower gifts, cookie deliveries.  I am a good neighbor.  I certainly don’t depend on a ‘friend’ status to know my worth as a person, but what perturbs me the most is the fact that I was blatantly lied to by one of them.

You see, this happened before, and I actually called one of the two stooges on it.  My husband found a job posting he wanted to pass along to one of the de-frienders, in an attempt to be helpful when they were job hunting.  The only way I had to email this person the link to the job was via Facebook.  Upon trying to send the link, I noticed she had de-friended me (unbeknownst to me).  So, being the ‘bigger’ person, I sent the job link with a note saying we would be more than happy to help them in their job search and would be sure to send along any further information that could be useful despite being cut off from their communication list.

I love jabs.

Anyway, needless to say I got a note back from said ‘de-friender’ feigning complete innocence…. How did the defriending happen?  She didn’t have a clue! Oh my! She must rectify that IMMEDIATELY!  And she did.  Big Whoop.  Don’t lie to me. I know how the de-friending happened…. YOU HIT DELETE FRIEND.  It’s not hard.  Your hand didn’t slip.  Your employer didn’t request you weed out your friend list (ah.. you’re unemployed remember?????) YOU. DELETED. ME.   And normally, I’d be fine with that if I didn’t have to pass you on a daily basis in the neighborhood.

So, life went on.

And in a random punch at buttons, I discovered the SECOND defriending….this time another neighbor (who, by the way is FRIENDS with the first de-friender).  Is it just me, or is this sounding a hell of a lot like junior high? hmmmm

The second de-friender is also a neighbor.  Again, I’ve done nothing but wave at her (using all my fingers).  I do believe a baby shower gift was involved at one point.   I can’t say I’m sad to not be in her close circle of 1,448 friends, however I do live 2 houses down.  It is a tad insulting.  But then again, do I really want to be ‘friends’ with someone who does this to me anyway?  Ah, no.

Suspecting that there is a rash of de-friending going on in my subdivision, I checked on de-friender #1…. and sure enough… SHE DE-FRIENDED ME AGAIN.  THE NERVE!  I’m assuming she is in cahoots with de-friender number 2.

The drama is exhausting!  Not to mention amusing.

I guess what irks me the most is the fact that people are not truthful.  They simply, slyly ostracize you, and Facebook allows them to do so in a public forum.   Of course they aren’t going to come to my door to let me know personally that the friend thing is just not working, so they had to cut me out… I’m not stupid.  But seriously? A de-friending? What did I do to deserve THAT? Not bake you enough cookies, or maybe I wrapped your baby shower gift with too much tape?

Fuck you. Thanks for de-friending me.  You saved me the trouble.  Seriously.  I have enough friends, and most of them aren’t on Facebook, thank you very much.

When I was back in college (which pre-dates Facebook and virtual friend collecting), I had a REAL “friend” (notice the quotation marks) that boldface lied to me about a social situation.  Being the bigger, more polite person, I allowed her to think she had pulled the wool over my eyes by ‘buying’ her story about her futile attempts to reach out to me to extend an invitation to me for a social occasion but she just COULDN’T reach me.  BULL SHIT.  I know she didn’t even try to reach me.  But I never said anything.

So the moral of the story kids is this…. don’t lie.  Or your pants will catch on fire.

Do you smell smoke?  I do!