I hate my self for missing you

As stated before, I have and, am mired in a failing marriage. My husband  moved out of our home.  On the sixth of December.  I was distraught, as one is likely to be when something of the like happens. However, that very night he wanted to sleep at my house. Of course I agreed. If it were up to me, I would still have him sleeping next to me every night.  I am not the one who ended things.  But that’s beside the point.  I was, and still am having a very hard time dealing with the fact that he is gone. Then, on December 11, there was an incident at the mall where I work.

I am a Store Manager, I will not name the company I work for because it is against the rules and, because I wish to keep this blog as anonymous as I can.  That Tuesday afternoon, a crazed 22-year-old man opened fire with a semi-automatic rifle in the mall, while it was full of holiday shoppers, children, and workers. The estimate was 10,000 people in the building that day.  The experience was terrifying. Loud. Chaotic. Tense. Stressful. Maddening. Scary. Helpless. And, a plethora of other emotions I can not even name.

The crisis counselors I have spoken with, have all said that telling the story over and over again can help with the stress.  Since I consider my self a logical person, and really am irritated with the after-effect of the whole situation I am going to put my story to paper, er….blog as it were.

It was about 3:25 PM, I was near the front of my store. The Santa exhibit was directly in front of my store.  I had wandered near the front , when I noticed a really creepy fat man in sweat pants attempting to “coyly” video the children. He had a small-ish camera in his gigantic creeper hands. I started making my way towards the cash register area so that I could call and alert security to the creepy child molester man. As I headed in that direction I came across four giant men. As in around six-foot five. I am  only about five foot five if I have good shoes on, but my husband(for now) is six-foot one, and these guys were a good deal taller than him. So I walk up to them and ask if they are all related. They look at me bewildered for a moment and, I say “You guy’s are all giants, so I thought you would be related.”  They tell me that they are not in fact related, but just prefer to hang with fellow giants. So I say “That’s cool, we like giants”  Then, one of them says “Hey, it might be nothing but there is a weird guy out there recording the children” I tell him yes I noticed that as well, I think I’ll call it in.

Then, I head over to the phone and dial mall security. They answer, and I start to tell them about the man with the camera. In the middle of my sentence, I hear the first shots. At first, I thought something was falling. Like the giant Christmas tree. It is full of glass ball ornaments. But then, the pops kept coming. And equal times apart. Pop Pop Pop Pop. I yelled GUNSHOTS! GUNSHOTS!!! GUNSHOTS!! Into the phone, to which security replied “Oh my god. COPY COPY COPY!” I slammed the phone down and started getting people towards the back of my store.  At this point, most of the folks in the mall realized what was happening, and since I was the closest to Santa, everyone who was in line to get a photo ran into my store. I was quickly filled with fleeing shoppers. Adults, children, even an old lady with a walker.  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and attempted to call 911. The call would not connect. I thought about calling from the store phone, but I figured a lot of people probably had called already.  Instead, I tried to figure out what was happening and make sure everyone was safe. Luckily, I had a few employee’s working with me that were good under pressure.  When everything went down, all the customers that were inside my store ran into my back room. Seeing that everyone was doing the correct thing, and moving to the back away from the shots, I ran to the front with one of my employees to pull the gate. I had my cell phone in my hand when I noticed that the mall Santa was hiding behind a pillar. I motioned to him and mouthed “Santa, come here. Get in my store!”  He shook his head No, so I pulled my gate and locked it.  My back room is tiny. And that is an understatement. So, it quickly filled up. I opened to door to get in my self, when I turned and saw a young Hispanic couple with a small child in between them. I could still hear the gun shots going off, but I  motioned for them to get in the back. I remember looking the Man in the eye’s, seeing his terror and then closing the door. Not knowing what I was going to do, or the other employee I had with me still.  We ended up on the floor behind the cash register. At this point, I started trying to call my husband, who had just moved out about four days prior. The only thing I could think of was to call him and tell him I loved him, in case I died. He was understandably hysterical, as was I. I got off the phone with him and heard the panic alarm from my back door go off. One of the people hiding in my back room figured out that you can press the bar and the door will open. I ran back there to check on things and saw that all the people who were back there were gone, as was the one employee that stayed back there.  I grabbed my store keys and turned the blaring alarm off so that the shooter would not be attracted to the store. I thought about turning the lights off, but at this point there were already armed police searching the mall and I did not want them to see shadowy shaped moving in my store and start shooting, so I opted to leave them on.  Then the employee that ran out the back with all the customer’s came back. He had guided them all out side from the back hallways, instead of letting them  inadvertently run back into the mall and in the line of fire.  I also had one female employee who was out of the store at the time on a ten minute break. I frantically called my boss to tell him what was happening and that I did not know where the employee was.

Soon, some police came by and yelled at us to get in the back room so we did. I sat in the back room with my two employees, and the lone customer that did not run out the emergency door and waited. And listened.  My cell phone shut down twice because every single person I have known was texting/calling to see if I was OK. And the store phone was off the hook. At one point a guest called to complain about a security device that was not removed. I apologized and explained that there was a shooter loose in the mall, in a whisper. She exclaimed “Oh my god! Don’t worry about it, please stay safe.” And, a local news station called to see if they could get an “insider interview”. I without cursing, explained to them that No. I would not be giving an interview as I was trying to stay quiet, and not get shot. (I am rather proud of the fact that I did not curse that woman out. We are trying to stay quiet and safe and she is calling the stores one by one to get an interview?!)

After what seemed an eternity, we started to hear a ruckus in the back hallways. Followed by a single gunshot. I motioned frantically for everyone to join me in the corner near the bathroom and away from the back door. We huddled there for ages, until I saw movement near the front of the store on my monitor’s. I went to the front to see what was happening and it was four armed police yelling at us to get a head count. I told him four, and he said grab your things we need to go. So we did.  I grabbed my jacket, purse, and thought to do the same for the employee that was missing. We were ushered out surround by armed police.

When we finally got to the parking lot, we were all asked to get to our car’s and leave right away. I explained to them that I had an employee still missing so they told me to stay put. I waited. And waited. And finally, saw my employee walking towards me. I had let the police know who she was and they had told her where to find me I guess. I gave her jacket, and purse and then grabbed all three of my employee’s in a giant hug. I lost it. I just started bawling.  I tend to do good in emergency situations, but freak out after.

So. I survived a mall shooting. Even helped save a bunch of lives. I have a little bit of PTSD. Loud noises make me flinch. The morning after it happened, a helicopter flew over my house and I rolled out of bed and hit the floor. But, I am logical about it. I know that this is normal, and will pass with time. There are crisis counselors still in the mall, two weeks later. I have spoken with a few of them, and they know my situation with my husband leaving me,and encourage me to seek professional counseling. Dealing with this alone is not good, but I still feel like therapy is for pussy’s.  I am strong. I will get through this, like I always do. But, I miss him terribly. And I hate my self a little for only wanting to reach out to him when the shooting was happening. I just did not want to die without him knowing how I felt/feel. I now realize that he doe’s know. I’ve made sure of that over the year’s. And that is all I can really do.


Divorce is such an ugly word

Definition of DIVORCE

: the action or an instance of legally dissolving a marriage
: separation, severance <divorce of the secular and the spiritual>
In this, our fine country our divorce rate is hovering at about thirty percent.  But still, divorce is a dirty word. Having attempted marriage myself, and actually being mired in a “failing” marriage at the moment I can see why the rate of divorce in this country is exceedingly high.  I am, at  nature an incredibly optimistic woman. I see the best in folks, even when they cannot.  Sometimes, as in my present marriage and living situation, this optimism can lead to trouble. And, that can lead to the people who I know and love judging me and my actions/decisions.
Let me first say that, at the very core of my being, I believe in marriage. I believe in monogamy. I believe in forever, and the work that it takes to make it too happily ever after. So why, does no one else any more? I don’t think I’m at the age of 34 “old”. Maybe I am. In this world of internet dating, “friends with benefits”,  open relationships, and *gasp* Dubstep, I sure feel like an old lady. While it was not all that long ago that I was coming of age, much has changed. Mostly the advent of computers. When I was in high school, the internet was just becoming widely used. Now, if I don’t give someone my facebook info they are seriously offended.  When did phone numbers go out of style? But, I digress.
I wish I knew the secret to lasting relationships. For some reason, I tend to end up with men who cheat on me. Multiple times. And typically I forgive them. My bad, I know but theres that infernal optimism again. I really need to learn to stop with the forgiveness. And the self loathing that comes with it. Maybe listen the first time a guy says he’s bored or not happy, yada yada yada. It’s always the same. I’m boring…….wait, what?
I’m not sure how anyone could really find me boring. Heres a few things about me.
I love animals. Tiny dogs in particular, but also all animals.
I love Dancing, my family, whiskey, snuggles, sleeping in, horror movies, spooky things, Halloween, and carbs.
I LOVE crime shows. Of any kind. True Crime, crime dramas such as Law & Order SVU, and my current obsession Criminal Minds.
I enjoy cooking (as is evidenced in my ample rear and bosom), and reading (again, mostly crime novels/true crime/horror)
If I could, I would probably live in Disneyland. Yes, the park. I would live in the Haunted Mansion. I dream of being the thousandth ghost. I would gladly let thousands of patrons see me in my natural habitat as they rode by in their……Doom Buggy’s
I also enjoy writing, obviously.
I love my job, I may “only work retail” but I am very good at what I do.
I  love my man, support him in any way.
I also enjoy sex, and do not let that part of the relationship die.
I have tattoo’s, many of them. And piercings and colored hair. I live for fall. The months of September through December are when I am happiest. Long nights and short day, Soy triple shot mocha’s, rain on my umbrella, the smell of that first rain is always so exciting. My favorite place to go is the Zoo, and in the winter time there are not as many screaming children to wade through.
I don’t think I’m boring, but clearly, the opposite sex does. Do I need to be more of a challenge? Should I be more of a bitch, more aloof, maybe ignore some calls/txt messages? I’m just not that way.  Oh yeah, I forgot my love affair with Bacon. Can’t live with out the delicious salty goodness!
You know what I am me. I love me. If no one else does, I’m fine with that. I have my pups to cuddle with at night.
Maybe someday I’ll be walking my Chihuahuas in the rain, and run into a cute boy with tattoos, and a wiener dog. Or Matthew Gray Gubler.
But until then, I’ll be okay alone.

Why is food like an ever so delicious hug?

Like most of America these days, I am overweight. Food is like a band-aid for me. A delicious, delicious band-aid. I’m not sure when or why this happened for me. Eating makes me feel better. A lot better. It always has. I suppose it’s better than say, Meth, or drinking. But can just as easily kill me. I know this. But while my brain knows the danger’s, my heart and mind do not say no to that *shudder* sixth piece of bacon I just inhaled. Eating is like a drug for me, yes while it’s happening I enjoy it and, I even feel better about my life in that moment. However, the second I am chewing the last bite of oh, pizza or maybe sushi or, you know bacon I feel like a complete loser. I am well aware of my curves. In fact I am actually proud of them for the most part. Let me get one thing clear here. I have NO desire at all to look like a model. Just to be healthy. And right now, I am not. In any way healthy. But here I am, typing this as I have just eaten, at eleven o’clock at night no less, two eggs six slices of bacon, and two fried potatoes. I feel like I should throw up. And sometimes I do.

Before anyone gets in an uproar, I am not bulimic. Quite obviously I am not. However, every once in a great while I feel so guilty after a serious emotional binge that I do get sick. I don’t have to put my finger down my throat. I literally get sick from just thinking about all the crap I just inhaled. Sometimes I don’t even taste the food, its like the act of chewing and swallowing takes the edge off the pain.  You know it’s funny that I am even admitting any of this because in general I feel like most people who use anxiety/depression as an excuse for a problem are just bullshitting. I still stand by that. I actually know why I am eating my self to death at the moment.

My failing marriage.  I know in my heart of hearts that it is not my fault. Nor his really. Well….not exactly. Just for the record,  I love my husband. Very much. He shattered my heart into a million pieces without even knowing it, so I dumped him. And felt stronger for that decision. But he was destroyed. Utterly, and hopelessly destroyed by my decision to cut him out of my life. Like I had been telling him for the about  three years that we had been dating, during wich he would not even admit that I was his girlfriend. When I finally dumped him I referred to him as my ex Not-boyfriend. Got allot of weird looks, and did a bit of explaining.  Again,  I am one of those sorry women whom I hate. The one’s that make every excuse for the men in their lives. He was abused as a child. His ex girlfriend had someone else’s baby. He’s obviously got some social anxiety. But the truth is he is a grown man. He can make his own decisions, and make the right ones even. As proven by the one too beg for my forgiveness and ask me to marry. I refused at first, but he was adamant, and while I pride myself on not being a “girl”,  I am. It sounded grand and romantic. The couple torn apart by turmoil, cheating, and lies. Only to be reunited when the man realized the error of his ways.

We would marry, have a million tiny dogs  and live happily ever after right? Little did I know the old demon’s would haunt us just the same. The biggest demon being the one that had someone elses child. But I digress.

This issue is mine and, mine alone. He does not force the food into my mouth. As a matter of fact, I see him for MAYBE five minutes a day. He “works” all night, shows up while I’m sleeping, I get up to work go in and kiss his sleeping face good-bye with  quick but sad “I love you” knowing I won’t get one back, then I have to go to my job. Knowing he won’t be there when I get home.  In my logical brain, I know this is not my fault. I took a chance on love, and it doesn’t seem to be working out. But for now, I have no friends save for our two tiny mongrel dogs (and I love them dearly), and that bacon sizzling seductively in the pan.

Maybe one of these days I will break up with the delicious treat(or man). But for now, I raise my fork to you.

Belly of the Beast

Everyday I watch hundreds of other riders enter, and how the doors open, seem to swallow you up, and will i ever get off this thing? Escape its never ending hunger, the need to keep its seats filled up. New ones in the front door, mouth closes, people sucked right in, and sometimes from where im sitting, it doesnt seem the same number get back out, digested wholly never to be seen again, and the sacrifice to the transit gods is made. I keep to my seat, blankly staring out the window, and the sky is so, so, black, no stars at all tonight, and I hope that I will be one of the lucky ones to get off the beast tonight.


At night, when I’m sleeping

There’s something in my head

The thought, it comes creeping

Of the nasty things you said

Try not to have the feeling

Of you, here in my bed

Its no use, you’ve been stealing

Unwillingly I’m led

To the floor, I’m pulled kneeling

The scene that surrounds me-covered in red

On my own, I’m left plotting

Revenge leaves you bled

Starting to make sense, everything

Question- who’s there in my stead?

Oh, how I live for fall!

I am so pleased that fall is just about upon us! Halloween, spiced cider, candied cashews, witches, ghosts, goblins and ghouls. My favourite part of the season is the leaves changing colors, and blanketing the ground. Whenever I see a giant pile of raked leaves I turn into a child again and want nothing more than to run, and leap into the pile, scattering them all about again. The falling leaves also remind me of my favorite scary movie, Halloween. And how it was filmed in the middle of the summer in Pasadena, CA. They had to ship  leaves in and scatter them around to make it look like fall. Oh, Michael Myers, how I long for the days of Monsters like you! Not like the Saw’s, and bloody remakes of Texas Chainsaw and Halloween. I miss the days where the camera could pan to MIchael Myers standing across the street from Laurie Strode’s house in his blue jumpsuit, butcher knife in hand. When all he had to do was tilt his head ever so slightly, and it sent chills up your spine. Those were the days of real horror. 

  I love wearing scarves, gloves, and long coats. Sitting outside, drinking a hot mocha and writing my stories.  Children carrying plasic Jack-O-lanterns, walking from house to house, parents in tow. Hoping for the best candies and the houses that give out the full size bars! Imagining that you are anything but the boring self that you are. Super Hero’s, scary monsters, unicorns, whatever the mind can see! I adore this time of year.

Women, why do we deal with crap from men?

Growing up my mother was constantly in abusive relationships. I watched as a small, impressionable girl the way that those men treated her and wondered why. Why would she let them hit her, yell at us, and yes do unspeakable things to her. And still, they would return. Starting with my father, he would get drunk become angry and beat her. Most often in front of my siblings and I. And finally, he left. I remember him leaving. Even when he was gone, he was a source of terror for years, threatening to steal us all away and take us to a foriegn country where we would never see my Mother again. But still it took close to a decade for her to divorce him.  The shitty thing is that now, as a grown woman I realize that when abuse and discontent is all you have known and lived your entire life, it is was you subconsciously seek out. My mother did what she had to do to survive and raise four of us on her own. And for that I am eternally thankfull and proud. But though I know that none of the things that happened to her, or us because of the the men she dated are in any way her fault, I still wonder. Would it have been any different if she had maybe chosen differently? Or stood up for herself or us, or maybe had better self esteem? The past is the past, and every moment of our lives make us the people we are today. I would not change a moment of it, or wish for my Mother to not be the kind, ever loving, ever forgiving, ever giving woman that she is. But, still I see my sister repeating the same patterns with her children and “baby daddy”  and it angers me to no end. How do we stop this cycle of abuse? What the hell do we have to do make women of America, or the world for that matter realize that we are NOT second class citizens, breeders, and sex machines?

From an early age I always said I would never be involved in something even close to those kinds of situations.  And thankfully, as of this writing I have never been involved in a physically violent relationship. However, I have defintily been involved in emotionally abusive relationships. I have been put down, cheated on, made to feel like I was not good enough and never would be. I have heard it all from one man considering me to not be a “whole person” because I did not drive or have a cell phone. (You, my fine reader will be ever so happy to learn that while I am still a non-driver, I do actually have a cell phone. And a smart one at that) To another telling me that my breast’s are not big enough, and that my past schooling in law enforcement is embarrassing. Both of these men cheated, and yes, stupid me I took both of them back. I am a hopeless romantic I suppose. I always have hope. While I know in my logical,  and present tense mind that these things are NOT ok. Will NEVER be ok, and are in most instances completely unforgivable, my female heart takes over.  And it makes me so damn angry. I sit here typing these words with tears of anger falling from my eyes, not sadness. I am angry. I am angry at myself and every other woman on this planet for putting up with this kind of bullshit. Enough is enough.