Approaching 40: Vagina Zits and Other Crazy Shit

With forty rapidly chasing me down, I’ve noticed some age-induced oddities that paint a less than fabulous picture of what’s to come. Apparently, most of the crazy shit lies dormant when you are in your twenties, and starts piling up like a decade of dirty laundry as soon as you turn thirty-five.

Since this is my last year in my thirties, I thought I would take the time to bask in the glow of my physical and mental neuroses, and naturally, share them with the world.

Zits – A zit…on your face…when you are a teenager… is an unfortunate part of life. But finding a whitehead on (not in) my nether region was somewhat alarming. After coming to terms with the gross factor and vigorously searching Wed MD for my diagnosis, it turned out that I either had a mysterious form of cancer or a pimple on my vagina. Being that I’m not a hypochondriac yet, I went with the theory that it was, in fact, a zit. I dealt with it because I refuse to enter my 40’s with a pimple on my vag. 

Memory Issues – Do you have the “if-I-don’t-write-it-down-consider-it-forgotten” syndrome? I do. However, the severity of my memory issue goes way beyond list making. For example, I use my kitchen timer to remind me that I am cooking. That’s right folks – not to alert me when my meal is done, but to prompt me in the midst of preparing a meal. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put a pot on the stove to boil water, only to find it completely evaporated a half an hour later. If a meal requires any attention while it’s cooking, my timer is solely responsible for motivating me to return to the stove.  

Random Paranoia – Apparently, our quirky slightly neurotic traits that were utterly adorable in our twenties become a little sad in our late thirties. As we age, we concern ourselves with a multitude of un-cute, ridiculous obsessions. For me, the weirdo detector goes off every time I contemplate using the library book return receptacle. My thoughts range from “What if my book gets stuck?” or “Will it definitely make it back to the library in one piece?” or “Will the librarians check the receptacle today or tomorrow?” and “If they check tomorrow, will there be a late fee?” My answer to all of these questions is always, “Ya know what? Never mind, I’ll park and go walk it in.”

Aches and Pains – I would say that the pain game began for me at the early age of thirty-five. Because I’m fit and active, it became a daily experiment to see what form of movement stressed my muscles out the most. Orthopedists and cortisone have become my saviors. In addition to my exercise habits, my sexual performance borders on ridiculous. After an extended period of time in a certain sexual position, I switch spots with choppy movements, much like the tinman in The Wizard of Oz.  Though my husband is quite skilled with the oil can, sometimes my body simply requires us to hunker down and commit to the given position.

As I reluctantly await the further eccentricities that will develop in the days I have left in my thirties, I cannot fathom how my mind and body will react to the big 4-0 coming my way in July 2016. The best I can do is dial down the incessant need to believe the “forty is fabulous” hype and embrace the quirks that will be constant reminders that with age, comes laughter.

*This piece was published on BLUNTmoms on November 25, 2015.

Real Women Have Vaginas

When the “real women” campaign started a few years ago, it filled me with hope that my little girls would have a chance at developing a positive body image. More recently, the campaign grew legs and sprinted its way to Negative Town, replacing its original uplifting message with yet another way to tear women down.

Do a quick google search for “real woman quotes” and you will find a plethora of images telling you what real women should or should not do. Apparently, if you don’t have curves, drive a stick shift, watch football, avoid drama, have a job, pay your own bills, or drink regular beer, you are not a real woman.

Forgive me if I seem a bit misguided, but I was under the impression that if you have a vagina, you are, in fact, a real woman. The ugly retorts that have since stemmed from the campaign seem to debate whether or not your actions qualify you as a real woman. And to that, I call bullshit. The most disturbing part of this is that the accusatory attitude toward these artificial beings formerly known as women are mostly coming from-yep, you guessed it-other women!

Reading articles using the “real woman” catchphrase with an added dose of snotty “I’ve-just-entered-my-teenage-years” rhetoric have become commonplace. In recent years, I’ve also been privy to disappointing conversations that begin with, “A real woman wouldn’t _______ (fill in the blank with whatever you think someone born with female genitalia wouldn’t dream of doing).”  When I see and hear statements like this, I am reminded of a child’s logic while throwing a tantrum, “Well, you didn’t give me that firetruck, so you must be a poo-poo head.” 

With that in mind, you’ll have to understand that if childlike behavior is in your wheelhouse, then I invoke the right to use the common toddler parental phrase “use your words” to garner a more valid response from you. For instance, if you feel the need to call me out for not being a “real woman”, please specify why you have the urge to verbally remove my vagina. Or better yet, just be direct and tell me what you actually think lies between my thighs.  I am enthralled to know…really.

Ladies, the bottom line is that we all don’t have to get along. But don’t defeminize a woman because she doesn’t like the same things you like, or because she hasn’t accomplished everything you have accomplished. Just because she may have acted inappropriately as compared to your holier than thou standards doesn’t mean that she needs her vagina lopped off. It just means that she does things differently than you. And that’s okay.

We all work, play, eat, diet, stress, meditate, sweat, relax, laugh, cry, judge, love. Some of us fall and get back up. Some of us have strong opinions or passions. Some of us are thin, but unhealthy. Some of us are overweight and have never felt better. Although we may all have flaws, we also each have something great to offer. Mind you, our offerings may not be intended for everyone, but just because you haven’t seen that side of a woman doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. 

So to those women residing in Negative Town, the next time you admonish a female for not being real, please remember that she may have real feelings, real insecurities, a real personality, real struggles, real opinions, real thoughts and real dreams. She may not be your cup of tea, but she sure as hell is a “real woman”. 

*Disclaimer: This in no way reflects my opinion of those who lack a vagina, but identify as female. This was not written as an attempt to disrespect those women, as they will always have my full support. 

Don’t Do It for the Haters

People come and go in our lives, and that is to be expected. However, there are certain individuals who hang on with a steel grip, studying our moves, hoping that we fail. They thrive by laughing at our setbacks, while getting some sick internal pleasure from watching us struggle. These people are known to many as haters. I call them assholes, but “to-may-to”, “to-mah-to”, right?

Booting haters out of our lives should be the simple resolution. However, some haters are discreet and keep their ill-intended desires a secret. Clandestine stalking becomes their favorite pastime. So if your life is on display, you should expect that they will be paying close attention.

Should this bother you? Being that stalking is illegal in all fifty states, I would say yes. However, the internet has changed the rules, so using the “unfriend” or “block” buttons for any unwelcome negativity in your social media world may only act as a band-aid. What you need to realize is that the bigger picture has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with you.

In my opinion, one major mistake is to triumphantly declare, “I’m going to prove you all wrong” or “Look at me now, haters”. The problem with these statements is that you are giving your haters credit for your motivation. The last thing these people need are ego boosts or opportunities to acknowledge their roles in your success. So, if you have a goal, go for it! But don’t let your accomplishments be overshadowed by your haters. A friend recently shared a valuable piece of knowledge with me, which is that these people are miserable and bitter, so even if you succeed and shout from the rooftops, “IN YOUR FACE”, they will certainly find something or someone new to hate on, and their cycle will continue.  

From experience, I can tell you that even if the cyberstalking doesn’t end, haters can be silenced in your mind. In my case, I learned to sympathize with the assholes of the world. I tried to imagine coping with that intense inner turmoil day in and day out. It must be exhausting. I also remembered that these people have always been in the background of my life. Paying attention to them only put them in the forefront, a place where they clearly did not deserve to be. And lastly, I realized that I genuinely like who I am, and no one can ever take that away from me. 

The reality is that your decisions may not have happy endings, and you may fall short when attempting to achieve a goal. And the haters will be attentively waiting for these moments. However, your reaction is also your decision. Responding to someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart can possibly result in empty accomplishments. Instead, choose to ignore the chatter and negativity so that you can focus on your own successes and learn from your disappointments. Set goals, not to prove who you are to some random asshole, but to make your life experience superior to what you ever thought it could be. The right people will find you and will eventually drown out the ones who never should have mattered in the first place.

Divorce: This is How We Do It

This past May, as the officiant welcomed guests to my wedding, I stole a glance at the first row where, sandwiched between our two daughters, my ex-husband sat smiling at me. Noting his presence with an awkward stare and crazed looks in their eyes, some baffled attendees whispered to me, “Ummmm…you are aware that your ex is here, right?”  

The expectation when a couple goes through a divorce is that the hatred between the two parties should multiply quicker than Gremlins who were fed after midnight. However, after an honest and curse-free discussion about what went wrong with our marriage, my ex and I determinedly tiptoed around the hatefest and revived the friendship part of our relationship. With our new bond intact, we were able to pay attention to what mattered most.

Our first conscious decision was to focus on our girls. It’s easier said than done, especially during those moments when all you want to do is throw a dish at your ex’s head and call it a night. But if the focus isn’t on your deteriorated relationship, it allows you to A) save your dishes and B) be a better parent.

We agreed that our mess didn’t belong to our children, so talking shit about each other in front of them was off limits. Reminiscing over the gory details of your divorce has no place in your child’s world. Influencing a child to dislike their parent only reflects poorly on you. So, venting about your ex should be reserved for nights out at the bar with your girlfriends, which brings me to my next point…

Divorce deserves a few drunken nights with unrestrained conversation about the best way to banish your ex from the country. But be warned- it will get old quickly. Whether the divorce was due to lying, cheating, stealing, or just plain ole incompatibility, it simply doesn’t matter. Wearing your post-divorce hostility like a badge of honor prohibits you from moving forward. So have a few drinks, a few chat sessions with your girlfriends, and then move the fuck on.  

The opportunity to display your readiness to move on will be presented to you during the “dividing of the assets” segment of the divorce process. My ex and I chose not to concentrate on “stuff.” Dragging your feet over petty bullshit like china or a bedroom set does nothing except increase your lawyer’s rate. And if you are being difficult on purpose to make your ex “pay” for what he did to you, congratulations on proving that you can be an asshole. But your ex probably already knew that. 

Hence, the divorce.

Looking beyond shitty divorce behavior can be like trying to find a Hershey’s kiss in a sea of horse manure. But I’m here to tell you that it’s completely worth it. Through the divorce fog, my ex and I gradually grew into our friendship, which eventually extended to my new husband as well.

Today, when I look at the weird, but stable foundation we have created, I can’t help but smile, knowing that our decision to forgive, forget and accept has allowed our girls to be surrounded by love, rather than anger, distaste and bitterness. Our daughters can live with confidence, knowing that their parents and stepfather will always be in their lives…together.

*This piece was pubished on BLUNTmoms on October 5, 2015.
*This piece was also published on Reality Moms on September 14, 2016.

My Husband is Annoyingly Good at Everything

Have you ever met a person who is good at everything? Well I have…and I married him. I may be biased, but my husband consistently demonstrates his creative genius. Over the years, he has morphed into a cake decorator, a jewelry designer, wood carver and a landscape artist. He also excels in the music arena, being a drummer, keyboard player and a guitarist. Did I mention that he also draws really well?

I once asked him what gives him the courage to pursue a new artistic mission. He responded with a general piece of advice given to him as a young man: “If someone can do something, so can I, even if I’m not the best at it.”

Telling him how annoying he was, after perfectly conquering each of his innovative endeavors, quickly became a joke between us. He would modestly laugh it off, telling me that the miraculous creation before my eyes wasn’t that good. His lack of confidence betrays his abilities every time, which keeps him blissfully humble. But I know better. He is fantastic at whatever he attempts. So, of course, there have been a few instances where I’ve felt like an inferior bystander, watching his virtuosity unfold before my eyes. 

It’s not that I am completely talentless. I have my own strengths as well. However, what I touch does not always turn to gold like it does for my King Midas. After years of being in awe of him, I gave myself a pat on the back, realizing that it takes someone of strong character to constantly be around someone like him. It takes someone with confidence, someone who will not feel threatened by his success, someone with patience and understanding of how an inventive mind works. It takes someone who will encourage him to continue to pursue this creative outlet, because that is where his ultimate happiness and true self lies.

Most days, I am that woman for him. But here’s my confession: Occasionally, I’m not. Sometimes, I watch him master yet another task and try to ignore the pang of envy. Every now and then, I find myself wishing that talent was a learned behavior, and that I could be his student.

Simply stated, some people are more gifted than others. I know that his “if someone can do it, so can I” mantra clearly doesn’t apply to me. His talent is leagues above what I could ever hope to achieve. Most days, I am fine with this. But once in a while, it totally sucks to realize that my tiny creative spark will surely be masked by his roaring eternal flame. Am I looking for sympathy? Hell no! I’m merely pointing out that living with someone who has a gazillion times more talent than I do can be a challenge. But with challenge, comes reward.

Ultimately, I get to sail through life with a man who constantly dares himself to be better. Regardless of my talent (or lack thereof), his outlook on life, his desire to set new goals, and his love of the unknown rubs off on me in an incredibly positive way. Although there may be a few days per year where I feel as though I am not worthy, the good news is that I spend the majority of the year being his cheerleader, lifting him up, and giving him the boost he needs to begin his next project. These are the days I focus on. These are the days that I remember the pleasure of watching his passions turn into successful realities. Though I cannot contribute anything other than my support, I am happy to watch him continually succeed at whatever makes him smile most. 

As I write this, my husband is currently busy cooking up his next adventure, and it thrills me to know that he chose me to be alongside him for the ride.

Guiding Your Bully To A Better Place

Apparently, bullying starts younger than I remember.

A few years ago, due to an issue with her foot, my daughter wore a boot.  As she slowly limped down the hallway with a friend, the class bully decided to push her…for no reason at all.  It wasn’t done in a flirty, “let-me-pull-your-hair-because-I-like-you” way.  It was malicious.  I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse, but my daughter has inherited my mouth. So she gave that boy a piece of her mind and the ordeal was over.  That is, until she told me about it.

I was really proud that she stood up for herself, and her reaction taught me that she would always be okay.  However, upon further discussion, she informed me that this kid regularly picked on girls in her class. I don’t know what goes on in a household that would allow an elementary school boy to think that pushing, hitting or kicking a girl is okay, but that’s a topic for another day. With that said, even though my daughter handled the issue, I felt the need to say something on behalf of other moms who might be dealing with this as well. So, I contacted her teacher and this boy’s mother via email to alert them to the fact that he had deliberately hurt my daughter, who, as a reminder, already had a bum foot. 

In his mother’s response to my email, she said she would address it.  But just for good measure, she added a petty comment alluding to something my daughter said to her son (which was “shut up”, for inquiring minds).  Note to self: work with my daughter on better word choices and maybe some applicable hand gestures.  Adding this quip to the end of her email voided her entire reply.  By turning his behavior around on my daughter, she indirectly told me that his conduct may have been justifiable.  In my mind, no matter how many times my daughter told her son to shut up, there is no acceptable reason for physical violence, specifically between a boy and a girl. My concern was that this could happen to someone else’s kid.  And it has.  His most recent display of aggression happened a few weeks ago with a swift kick to a girl’s ankle, which landed her in the nurse’s office.

Since this boy’s behavior hasn’t changed, I have made my daughter aware that a boy should never harm a girl.  It’s a shame that this boy hasn’t received the memo.  With my daughter being only ten years old, I don’t even want to have the puberty conversation with her, much less talk to her about physically violent boys, who will eventually turn into assholes as men. But here we are, discussing it.

I’m not really sure why action wasn’t taken the first time this kid displayed signs of aggression.  The boy’s PTA mother is well known at school, so maybe some low level politics had been involved.  Regardless, this situation in its entirety baffles me because if my child displayed multiple behavioral issues, I wouldn’t be up the school’s ass, trying to make myself look important.  I would be up my child’s ass, trying to figure out where I went wrong.  But that’s just me.

Right now, this boy is on the path to popularity- the cool chicks like him, and the boys want to be his friend.  But he is also on the path to self-importance.  He will soon come to realize that he has the ability to make people do whatever he says.  He will laugh at the expense of others, and the minions in his group will laugh and follow in his footsteps in the name of being “cool”. 

I am not a fortune teller, but I know that if his parents stop enabling his behavior and involve themselves now, he might have a better shot at being a decent human being.

And that’s my point.

We are highly expendable in every job we will ever hold except for one.  Being a parent is an irreplaceable role, and it is imperative that we remember that. If your kid needs more from you, be there. If he is acting out, pay more attention and intervene when necessary.  If another parent informs you that your kid has done something wrong, be willing to accept that your kid isn’t perfect.  Address issues with your children in a real way, rather than with a simple ten minute “your-behavior-was-not-nice” lecture. Make a commitment to your child, even if that means losing your coveted role as a PTA member.

One of the scariest things about parenting is that we don’t always get it right.  But while our children are still young and impressionable, addressing issues when we see them is essential to their development.  Whether you are a parent of a bully, or of a child who is being bullied, remember that inaction is also an action.  So speak up, pay attention and be present.  Your children, and the society that has to deal with them, will appreciate it in the long run.

"P" is For Pity Party

I recently threw myself a pity party. Some of the characters from Inside Out were there-Sadness, Disgust, Anger. It was a grand ole time until Joy tried to show up. But it was three against one, so she was ousted pretty quickly.

The cause for celebration began when I overheard my ten year old daughter telling her dad (aka the “fun parent”) that she had a boring day with me. Even though I know that it’s not realistic to think that I can be around 24/7 to sculpt her day with joy and laughter, her comment made me feel like I suck as a parent.  My inner dialogue whined, “But I want to be the fun one!”  And even though we’ve had some really enjoyable summer days, her comment stuck with me, and this pity party snowballed into all of the things I suck at. 

Here’s the thing about me-I don’t do the “feeling sorry for myself” dance…ever. So, this party was unexpected and unwelcome. With panic in my voice and horrid thoughts of becoming one of those people who holds onto the past with a steel grip, I asked my husband, “How do people live like this without getting ulcers?” He simply answered, “They do get ulcers.”  Not exactly comforting dear, but message received.

One of my favorite things about myself is my ability to move on quickly. I have known people who have spent months or even years feeling sorry for themselves, making themselves out to be the victim of every undesirable situation. These people had always been a source of negativity and none of them remained in my life for very long. I never understood their need to hang on to something that wasn’t making them feel good. But now that I was in this strange new predicament, I got a taste of what this kind of life could be like. And (surprise!), I still fucking hated it.

During the entire party, I was completely aware of what an ass I was being. I tried to remind myself that, every day, people in this world are hungry, sick, dying, or poor. And here I was-none of those things, feeling sorry for myself.

My best friend had to listen to my assholery on extremely long phone calls (sorry Lisa). And no matter what she said, I couldn’t kick the feelings I was having. My intense fear of morphing into one of those people I hated was becoming real. You might think I’m exaggerating, but imagine living your life for 39 years and never once feeling sorry for yourself. And then, one day-BAM! Here it is…crappy feelings wrapped up and delivered to your psyche in one fell swoop.

In my experience, the only people who get invited to pity parties are those who, on some level, enjoy wallowing in their own misfortune. Maybe I was briefly one of those people, but I realized that it’s not who I am at my core. The party eventually started to wind down when I started remembering who I was.

I am a happy and fortunate person. I have extremely wonderful people in my life, a great career and some pretty interesting hobbies. And most importantly, I am a good mother to my children, even if I don’t get to be the highly coveted “fun parent”. 

So yes, I can now say that I have been to the worst party that has ever been thrown. I wore the large P for pity party on my chest and the experience only left me with something I already knew. And that is this-I have never really been great at hosting parties, but when I do, Joy is usually the only person who is invited.

*This piece was published on BLUNTmoms on September 10, 2015.

Teaching My Daughters What A Pen Pal Is In The Age Of Social Media

Last week, I introduced my daughters to the old school concept of pen pals. In enthusiastic mommy voice, my explanation went something like this, “When I was your age, I had what’s called a pen pal! We wrote letters back and forth to each other, and even though we never met, we became friends. We would write about what we liked and didn’t like, and we’d ask questions about each other, and sometimes, we would even send each other stickers! Plus, wouldn’t it be great to get a letter in the mail that’s just for you?” As my seven year old stared blankly at me after my pen pal description, I was left thinking that I may have overhyped it.

That is, until the pensive look on my older daughter’s face turned into a smile. Because my younger daughter has a cousin in New Jersey that is only four days apart in age (shout out to LiAnna), I was actually trying to gear the conversation towards her.  But with her older sister on board, I figured her acceptance of the idea would follow. And then I remembered that my girls are complete opposites. So, what one finds interesting, the other naturally detests. Fallon, my oldest, wound up writing a letter to a friend who moved away last year. As for LiAnna in New Jersey, I’m still working on it.  At the end of the day, a letter was written and put in the mailbox. Mission accomplished…sort of.

I have to admit that I was a little surprised by the effort it took me to get the girls interested in the pen pal idea. Based on my short description, you might think this took only minutes. However, this whole process, from explanation to finished letter in the mailbox, took a few hours.  You might be wondering if my girls have IPhones or Facebook accounts or any other technology that enables them to communicate immediately with someone. Though they have Skyped a few times from my laptop, the answer is no. My kids are currently phone and text-free kids. So it’s not like they were frowning upon the antiquated snail mail concept. They just simply weren’t as interested as I thought they would be.

So, that’s when I started wondering about letter writing in general. Technology has completely squashed the need for it. As I sit here with my laptop, writing this blog that has the potential of reaching a significant amount of people all over the world, I don’t want it to seem like I don’t appreciate our culture of instantaneous communication. But I also can’t help but think how nice it would be to get a letter in the mail that isn’t a bill or a random catalog from Omaha Steaks. Not to mention, the pleasure of writing back has always been special to me. But in our technology driven world, has the art of putting pen to paper been lost? Does letter writing have a place anymore? If we can’t quickly “like” a “status”, would a letter in the mail from a friend get lost in the abyss of our daily shuffle?

Obviously, my daughters’ lives at seven and ten years old are not too busy. Even so, I’m not sure if the pen pal idea will stick or if they will see the value in it. At the very least, I am happy to have familiarized them with letter writing. Even if they only write and receive one letter, I hope they find those few moments of pure joy when opening the mailbox and finding a letter from a friend. 

*This piece was published on Scary Mommy on August 25, 2015.

Downy Wrinkle Releaser

Did you ever have such a lazy day that you exited your house in a shirt that was so badly wrinkled that it looked like it had been chewed up and spit out by a hippo?  No?  Lucky you, then. 

There aren’t too many things in life that I cannot stand to do, but I truly despise ironing.  Years ago, in an effort to avoid ironing, I purchased a professional steamer, which has been nothing short of a miracle throughout my life.  That is-until I had children.  Once my girls were part of the picture, steaming clothes became something that seemed as ancient as going clubbing until seven in the morning.  Who has time for steaming clothes when you have real family emergencies such as finding the backup security blanket, taking the crusts off of the bread before a meltdown ensues, or reading that princess story for the hundredth time?

What I’m trying to say, in the longest winded way possible, is that the older I get, the less time I have.  And steaming/ironing clothes never seems to make it to the list of things I should do on a daily basis.  Enter Downy Wrinkle Releaser.  Now folks, this is not a new product.  Some of you may have been using this for years.  So, what I’m sharing with you is not groundbreaking.  But for those who have never used it, let me enlighten you on how absolutely fantastic this product is!

After a few sprays of the bottle, it immediately starts working its magic on your wrinkled clothing.  All you need to do is use your hand to smooth out the wrinkles.  Easy peasy!  The total process time is about one minute, but depending on how much spray the garment needed, you may need to give it a few extra minutes to dry.  Another added bonus-it smells like freshly laundered clothing.

Take a look at the before and after shots below. 

Before

After

So, if you have days where the thought of ironing makes you want to go back to bed, or if you’re like me, and simply don’t have time for ironing, I would absolutely recommend getting a bottle of Downy Wrinkle Releaser.  You can find it at your local grocery store or at amazon.com for roughly seven dollars.  Though the price is a little steep, it lasts a very long time, and is well worth the extra time you save from not having to lug out the ironing board!

Just a quick tip-they also make a travel size version, and I bring it with me on every vacation!  It truly has been a life saver! 

City Girl Gone Country

Spending most of my life only minutes from Manhattan has really shaped who I am as a person.  I absolutely love who I have become as a result of my environment.  I am confident, bold and really don’t care what people think about me. However, it has been brought to my attention that due to the cultural differences between where I come from and where I now live, people here in Florida may not fully understand or appreciate my tactlessness when it comes to speaking my mind.  Most people from my neck of the woods are blunt, honest and direct, and if you are extremely lucky, we will give you a “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” dose of sensitivity. 

Here are a few examples for your enjoyment. 

1. When you have broccoli in your teeth, we are going to tell you.  And instead of sounding sweet, it might sound something like this, “Go check a mirror and get that shit out of your teeth.” 
2. When my cousin doesn’t want to talk to me anymore on the phone, he doesn’t make excuses.  He just stops, sometimes mid conversation, and says, “Yeah, I’m done.  I’ll talk to you next time.”
3. My old boss used to love having me around because when we were done with a long day and someone wanted to get an after-work cocktail, instead of coming up with fake reasons why I couldn’t, I just said, “Nope.  No thanks.  I just spent ten hours with you.  I’m good.”  

And the best part about being from this area is that no one gets offended by abrupt truths!  It’s just the way it is.  As long as you are honest, regardless of your tone, people respect you.  Growing up, my friends and family always told me the truth, rather than sculpting words into something nicer, but further from what I actually needed to hear. I didn’t have any friends who kissed my ass.  And to this day, I am thankful for that.

But now that I no longer live in a tough as nails environment, it hasn’t occurred to me to try to adapt.  I am what people would describe as a hard person.  Not much affects me in a significant way.  Sympathy and empathy do not come easy for me.  I’m not affected by what people think of me.  When someone doesn’t like me, their words, however vicious, simply have no meaning to me.  Now, I do have my version of kryptonite, but no one has ever guessed correctly on what it may be. 

Why am I telling you all of this?  Because being a hard person in a softer environment is not an easy merger.  When I first moved here, I felt like I was trying to decipher the DaVinci code when it came to meeting new people.  Why do they smile so much?  Are they really that interested in my life or are they just being nice?  Their tone sounds too upbeat-are they telling me the truth?  Do I have broccoli in my teeth?

Over time, I have come to admire the differences in the people I have met here.  Luckily for me, I have found some really wonderful people who are just the right mix of sweet and blunt.  These people make me believe that I am capable of obtaining a better balance with regard to my extreme personality traits.  Although I waver back and forth like a seesaw on whether or not Florida is the right place for me, they have made it easier to adapt.  You see, I’ve learned that people from the south have something that my northern brethren simply don’t have-and that is, patience. 

My reality is that I’m not going to morph into a softer person.  The people in my life now have been patient with the process of learning who I am.  They have been open to understanding that what I say, I say out of concern, rather than to just be a rude jerk.  And although the cultural differences are not always pleasant for anyone who deals with me on a regular basis, so far, the South prevails in accepting me, flaws and all, into their lives with open arms.