My Original Ride or Dies

I have had the unenviable reality of being uprooted and moved at some of the worst times in a developing young lady's life--5th grade, Freshman year and then again Senior year.  By my own free will, I married young and moved along with the military and had the Hero far from my hometown.  After Sgt. Airborne did his final deed of destruction, I returned "home" hurt and ashamed with nothing but the Hero, a car seat, a broken stroller and what was in the boxes I had mailed COD to my parent's front door.

I had no friends.

But Sister shared her friends and out of that crazy-assed cast of characters I found my next husband and his Ride or Dies.

The Urban Dictionary defines a Ride or Die as someone who is always by your side and will never leave.  They have your back no matter what.  They would do anything for you and will fight for you.  So, by definition alone these boys are my Ride or Dies, as well.  They have been there for the Caveman and the Hero and for me; I know for a fact they would Ride with me or they would Die for me--I just know that, forrealz.

They have babysat the Hero and dogsat my sweet Roxy girl; they have played softball on the same team as my Father and me; they have visited the Caveman and me in the hospital; they have picked us up from bars and broken down cars; they have helped us move into our homes; they have been there for the Hero's baptism and First Holy Communion and attended his fire academy graduation.  And I know that they will sit in the family pews right behind the Caveman and me on the day that the Hero is married and they will visit his wife when his own babies fall from heaven.  And then we will all switch places in those same pews when our own parents begin to leave us.

Papa Fig has been a staple in our little family for so long that I could have easily stood on his side of the alter when he married. Papa Fig would have been the Hero's official godfather at his baptism but the church got all high-and-mighty and said no, he had to be a "real" Catholic.  Whatevs.  He had the forethought to hook me up with his mother who became my mentor and future business partner and he made the hard phone calls when the Caveman's father died after 17 horrible whirlwind days.  
Debts that can never be repaid.

I have slept huddled on the beach in the mist of Mexico with the The River Rat and we spent many Taco Tuesdays at the Red Onion and in line waiting to get in to clubs on Friday nights.  He was the one who lent me $3600 to get my boobs done and I made a visit to his shop every single month for 36 months to pay him back $100.  Not to mention the odd $20 here and $60 there just to get diapers or food or put gas in my little Honda Civic.  In all honesty, he owns a little bit more than a piece of my heart.
I love him for that!

Big Pimpin' is the baller that bails our sorry asses out of jail literally and hooks us up with all kinds a cool shit.  I have no proof, but I have my suspicions that the Caveman extracted a promise from Big Pimpin' that he would always look after me should something ever tragically befall him.  Big Pimpin' has no blood family of his own left on the planet--except for the adorable mini-me children that Big Pimpin' and his bride have made for themselves--making it even more poignant that we roll deep.

And we do roll deep just not as often as before.

Even when it has been over a year since we were all in the same room at my 12/12/12 birthday party--it doesn't matter.  Just like the River Rat's wife reminded me, "We are such good friends--just with gaps."  She dubbed us gap friends.  She is my Gap Girl.  She is the one I have known the longest and whose child is closest in age to my own.  We were single mom's dating hound dogs, but they loved us and we loved them and we made it work.  I even made her wedding dress!  The Princess Bride is exactly ten years younger than myself and is so beautiful and so much Big Pimpin's dream girl it is almost spooky and the CEO is just that: She is the CEO of her own majorly successful design firm and has blessed Papa Fig with the only thing he ever really wanted in this life--three of his own beyond-beautiful children.  I have been there for a few of these boss bitches' children's conceptions and I have been around for almost all their births.  I love them all like my own child.

This is the real deal, people; this is what life and love and friendship and growing up and growing old together is all about.  Take it from me, when you are not lucky enough to have your own Ride or Dies, you gotta manufacture them or go out and steal them from someone else.

And you realize how important they are to have and to take care of and to cherish and to ride or die with.

xoxo Darya

Suck It 2013

I sat in front of my computer--which by-the-by is really having some technical difficulties and even Blogger is feeling a little like it is out to screw me--and the blank page of my little bloggity blog mocked me.  I was thinking and typing and erasing and typing some more and trying to come up with some truly inspiring and awesome words of wisdom to bid 2013 farewell and to usher in 2014 with grace and inspiration.  Hah! The only thing that, in all honestly, I could put down was, "Suck it 2013."  Really, Darya?  Really.

So, as midnight approached and I started to feel a little panicky, I literally hammered this out on my iPhone with my two prematurely arthritis and tendonitis encumbered thumbs as we sat in the drive-thru at Alberto's waiting for our two bean-and-cheese burritos--we are ballers, ya'all.  2014 is my new beginning.  I am cutting the dead wood and I am no longer pushing an ever-growing tangled rope of shit uphill.  So, here is my Alberto's missive in all its glory.  If you follow me on Facebook, no new news here.  Bear with me; I will get it together.  Promise.  I feel big things a-poppin in 2014.


A few words as we end the year:

I have worked hard and I have hardly worked; I have squatted and thrusted and turned my body around; I have recommitted my heart to love, my mind to learning and my skin to the proper use of sunscreen; I have been hurt and I have set about healing; I have nothing to be sorry for but I want to do oh-so-much better; I have cried and sworn and cursed at God and I have made futile deals with the devil.  2013 has been sad and hard and brutal and I long for an easier more beautiful and tranquil 2014.

These are my 2014 Darya-isms.

Happy New Year, Auld Lang Syne, Salud and Cheers!

xoxo Darya

Afterglow vs Aftermath

As anyone who knows me knows—mostly because I bludgeoned everyone with even the most minute of details—I turned the big 5-0 on 12/12/12.  I threw myself a very intimate little party at the most adorable girlfriend-owned restaurant in Newport Beach called Sol Grill complete with an awesome live musician for background and then dancing music, as well as the Hostess's ah-mazing food.  I created a signature cocktail and the Caveman and the Hero toasted me with my own homemade lemoncello and we laughed and we celebrated and my guests signed the most current volume of my 7-volume guest book—originally started in 1987!—and it was all I ever dreamed or dared to hope it could have been.  It was love, man, just pure L-O-V-E. 

But, just like the holiday hangover we all suffer after Christmas and New Year's, I got a triple-dose with my birthday's celebration being thrown in there as well last year.  As a side note, the Caveman's birthday is 12/15 and the Hero's birthday is 12/26 and my little family's anniversary is 12/1—feel my triple-crush hangover now!  And a big birthday like that gets you thinking and wondering and considering.  Hmmm.  What do I know for sure--really for sure?  If you have read my prior blog entries, you are familiar with my struggles—no need to double-dip that chip here.  So, in honor of 12/12/13 and turning 51—see, it just doesn't have the same cool ring—I am sharing those things that I know to be true for sure for me.

 

1.      My life really didn’t begin until I met the Caveman—I DO NOT even know how I breathed a breath of air before he came into my life.

2.      This is a tie with No.1:  Seeing the Hero fall from heaven into this world—dramatically and prematurely—and take his first breath.  This is my most treasured memory (made all the more treasured by the fact that there is no one left on this planet to share this memory with me). The only reason this isn't No. 1 is because the Hero was meant to be born, grow up and leave me.  The Caveman, on the other hand, was meant to meet me, fall in love and stay with me.

3.      Witnessing the Caveman and the Hero (age 2) meet for the first time—instant love.  Okay—it's a three-way tie.

4.      I am horrible at paying my bills; so I make sure that I have none.

5.      In the hive of life, I am a drone, not the queen.  I know intimately the hard-hustle of everyday work.  Not even a career, just a down-in-the-trenches-day-in-and-day-out kinda work.  I am both embarrassed by and proud of this same point.

6.      I know in my heart that the Caveman wakes up every morning asking himself what he can do to make it the best day for me!  I want so much to be able to do that for him, but I am a selfish failure at loving him as much as I need to be loved by him.

7.      I am sensitive.  My eyes and heart cannot abide most of what they witness on the internet and TV.  Warning:  If you post abused pit bull puppies or abandoned kittens on my FB Newsfeed I immediately “hide” it.  The Animal Planet Channel is blocked on all my TVs.  I cannot endure these atrocities—it does not inspire nor rally me; it traumatizes and paralyzes me.

8.      I am desperate for structure and quiet.  I try not to yell any more than I have to.

9.      I need a solid work-out schedule for my mind and good food for my body and vice verse.

10.  I need a good bra, a sexy little black dress, an above-average Kentucky sipping whiskey and clean soft sheets—not necessarily in that order.  Well, now that I look at that order, probably, exactly in that order ; )

11.  I must knit to retain even a modicum of sanity.

12.  I need a kitten to want to purr and knead on just me.

13.  The hard-hustle is killing me (see #5).  Slowly, painfully and without mercy the hard-hustle is sucking the soul from my body.  I must find a new way to “be” in this world.  Like Bowie says, “We live for just these twenty years do we have to die for the fifty more?”  God, I hope not.

14. Steely Dan is the greatest band ever.  Church.  Preach.

15.  I should be a better Christian.  I know God loves me, but, really, what have I done for him lately?

16.  I am basically scared of boys and their larger, hairier, scarier man-selves.

17.  The allure of shiny and pretty does not elude me.  Ever.

18.  I love dolls.  I wish I could design and make dolls for a living including knitting all their clothes and accessories even their little under panties.

19.  One of the greatest gifts I ever received was learning to sew—thanks Mom <3.

20.  I can do anything; I have never really failed at anything.  Now, don't get me wrong, some things have not always necessarily worked out so well, but I would never use the word "fail'.

21.  I bruise easily. But, I am also tough and resilient.

22.  I truly believe that most people, including my family just don’t “get me”.

23.  If you are my friend, there's nothing I won't do for you.  Please don’t abuse that because if you do, well, then, I will probably take it, and then, one day I will not take it anymore, and then, we will no longer be friends.  Period.

24.  I love our families and I feel a grave responsibility to take care of them—all of them.  Well, almost all of them; you know who you are and you WILL NOT be taken care of by me, ever.  If you are reading this and you are unsure if this means you, then you better check in with me.

25.  The sound of a barking dog at night will drive me slowly insane—like I want to hide drugs in a pork chop and heave it over the fence kinda crazy.

26.  I believe I am a better auntie and godmother than I ever was a mommy.

27.  I love completely with all my heart.  Unfortunately, my heart is only the size of a dried apple doll’s head (see #6).

28.  I envy girls who have girlfriends and girls’ nights out.

29.  My only regret is not having a better education; however, I have such a shitty education that I can’t even spell R-E-G-R-E-T; it’s not even in my vocabulary.  Clever how I did that, huh ; )

30.  I married my first boyfriend.  Hell!  I married all my boyfriends. 

31. The Caveman belongs at the right arm of God for raising another man’s son as his own.

32.  You don’t have to like me; you can even say bad things about me, but you are going to have to own it and you are only going to get to do it once because I will not stand to be disrespected twice.  Consider yourself warned.  Seriously.  After that go ahead and say whatever you want to say but you should be prepared to duck.  Better yet, just get screwed and keep walking.

33.  Just about any kind of –ism makes me physically sick, i.e. racism, sexism, ageism, radicalism, fundamentalism, etc.

34.  I absolutely love, adore and respect our military men and women.

35.  The Star Spangled Banner and the hymn Amazing Grace cause a visceral reaction in me that I cannot hide.

36.  I am basically a worry-wart insomniac perfectionist encumbered by not enough time to be rested, perfect nor worried enough.  See my dilemma.

37.  No man has ever worked harder for one woman than the Caveman does for me. 

This is what I know to be true; these are my Darya-isms.

Happy birthday to me <3

xoxo Darya 

There Went My DIY Cherry

Just as a a word of warning , you are not going to see a whole lot of DIY projects here on my little bloggity blog.  This is my promise to you.  I may, however, show off some of my handknits or something I have sewn or maybe even embroidered.  While I have been sewing since before I knew how to read and I certainly know my way around with every manner of needles, I do not consider myself a particularly crafty person.  And to do DIYs you gotta be crafty and creative, man.  You gotta be able to look at a plastic gallon milk jug and envision and then cut and carve and turn it into something like a baby doll swing or a device to capture vermin or a bathmat or something equally absurd yet awe-inspiring.
I am keenly aware that I do not possess these talents.  I am the girl that reads your DIY and then goes and does it really, really well.  I am what is known as your target audience.

That all being said, my girlfriend and I found these loafers at Gap for 30%. In all honesty, I really wanted the already glittery and sparkly ones, but they were an extraordinarily odd goldy-pinkish hue that I just could not get behind, and they were stiff to boot.
Then...I remembered a DIY I had seen on Honestly WTF's website or maybe even Love Maegan where the girls recreated the glittery Miu Miu sneakers with a pair of Van's.  That's about it.  I just followed their directions.

Ta da damn da.  Clearly, I am an awesome photog, as well.  Be jealous.

I do need to say out loud that I have never worked with Mod Podge and I am still quite intimidated by the extreme volume of choices at Michael's--eventually, I just grabbed one and ran.  All in all, I like the way they came out and I am actually wearing my glitterfied versions and I think they are really pretty.  They are very sparkly and glittery and still pliable, and because I sprayed the extra sealant on them there doesn't seem to be any trail of sprinkles, which to be honest, kinda bums me out 'cause I like to think that I spread a little sparkle with every delicate little foot print I make ; )

 xoxo Darya

Family Date Night

On December 1, 1990, the Caveman married the Hero and me.  We were married at the little Catholic church where the Caveman had taken his First Holy Communion as a second grader, and later where I converted and took my First Holy Communion and Confirmation as a 28-year-old-grown-ass woman.   It was a nuptial mass that was intimate and simple and afterwards we had a helluva party--we are good at that part.  We call it our Family Anniversary because that is the day that we officially became a family--pretty clever stuff, huh.

But when I really think about it, becoming a family actually started a few years before that day as I was putting the Hero to bed one Friday night.  Generally speaking, I didn't go out until after he had been put down for the night.  And on this particular Friday night as I was laying there talking with him or reading to him--fully made-up and dressed-up and ready to slide out from under the covers and sneak out the door to Benigan's or The Red Onion the exact moment after he fell asleep--and he asked me why he never got to have a date night.  Huh?  You wanna have a date with us?  The Hero was probably three-years-old and he was in daycare full-time and the Caveman was a first-year apprentice and I worked nights and from that one simple and honest question Family Date Night was born.  We chose Wednesday because it was pay day.  We chose Sizzler because it was cheap and close and the Earth wouldn't stop spinning on its axis if something got spilled or there was an emotional meltdown, but you had to sit at a table with silverware and a cloth napkin and there was proper table conversation about the workweek and the happenings of our lives.  The Sizzler--as well as the dining table at home--is where the bar was set; where the Hero learned to sit down and speak up and to eat like a human being and to say please and thank you and generally not act like a little punk.
  
Looking back on those Family Date Nights, I realize how important they were to us becoming a family even before we were a family.  It is a tradition that stays with us to this day.  The Hero now lives in LA.  He comes down once a month for date night with me and once in a while the Caveman joins us and we have Family Date Night again--or still.  We will do this Sunday night on the occasion of the 23rd anniversary of our little family.  And it will be a beautiful thing--to sit there as adults and speak of our workweek and the happenings of our lives. 

Happy Family Anniversary <3

xoxo Darya

I Am Proud of Myself

Yes.  I am pretty damn proud of myself.

Simply put, I am proud of myself for choosing this man, the Caveman, to be my son's father.  This is not something that I waiver on or wonder about.  The Caveman is a man who chose to raise another man's son. 

And not just to get at me, but for the long haul. 

The Caveman fell in love with my only child, the Hero, the exact moment that they met and they have shared a special bond since that  millisecond in August 1986 when the Hero still wore cloth diapers!  I can honestly say that if they had not shared this love affair separate and apart from the love affair shared by the Caveman and me, I would have had no problem moving it along.  I was never going to sacrifice the Hero for the love of an average man.

The Caveman had to be a superb super-human man who was willing to deal with not only my own special brand of insecure insanity but also the sideways glances of the Family who were already convinced I had--have--a unique form of mental retardation that affected my decision making skills resulting in me choosing to fall in love with Sgt. Airborne way back in 1977!

Sgt. Airborne was my best friend, my first boyfriend and my first love my first and only love until the Caveman came along.  Yeah, do the math people.  And oh, how I loved Sgt. Airborne.  He was smart and funny and well read and a linguistically gifted and STRAC soldier and a very well-documented liar.  And as a child he was horribly and brutally abused by a stepfather, so there was that. 

No matter how much of a normal human being he tried to portray, the cray-cray was just underneath the normal waiting to bubble up to the top at the point of boiling.  That boiling point came about an hour after I brought Baby Hero home from the hospital.  I still had episiotomy stitches in me and he choked me into submission.  The rest is just ugly and embarrassing and not a testament to the woman I am.  Eventually, something snapped; he lost it; I split. 

I must have been quite a site running from one terminal to the next in Chicago O'Hare Airport with a baby on my hip dragging a car seat and a broken stroller I call it My Own Private Vietnam because it felt like what I imagine the fall of Saigon was like to those mothers on top of the American Embassy and I HAD TO GET MY BABY ON THAT PLANE!  Fast forward to 30 years later, and we are still with the Caveman and Sgt. Airborne is honorably buried at Fort Sam Houston.  I pray he found the peace in death that he never knew in life. Seriously.

And anyone who knows us knows the rest of the fairy tale.  I fell deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love with the Caveman; the Caveman's mother became the Hero's Nana and she now lives with us and I care for her in her old age; the Caveman's friends who are more like family to the Caveman then his own siblings ever have been or ever will be embraced both the Hero and me.

The Caveman gave all he had to give to us.  He gave us his heart, his hard working hands and his uncompromising moral compass and his never-say-die attitude.  What more could a woman want for her son?  

So, when I say I am damn proud of myself, I speak from a place of absolute steadfast no-doubt certainty.

Darya, you did good, girl. 


xoxo Darya

From Where I Stand

On my list of Things I Learned in My Fiftieth Year, #22 reads, "I truly believe that most people including my family just don’t get me”.  This belief was deeply underscored recently at Sister's as I stood in the middle of her kitchen at a three-week-early birthday BBQ celebration piggybacking the Parents whirlwind visit to see their Grandson play in a varsity football game.  After greetings and kisses and hugs and settling down, I could feel the busyness of the kitchen and the buzz of the boys' conversation in the other room and all I could hear singsonging in my own head was, "Heigh-ho, the derry-o; the cheese stands alone."   I felt so exquisitely and simply not one of them.

And I'll tell ya, I really tried to be good.  I tried to make the proper small talk and to not make anyone mad and to not be confrontational or combative or contradictory--all things I have been accused of in the past.  And in spite of  my best efforts to be good, I still managed to piss someone off.  It is so very obvious that they all find me very trying and exasperating and just plain exhausting.  I hold beliefs dissimilar to theirs.  I ask messy favors and I expect honesty and truthiness.  Evidently, it is all very uncomfortable making.  So uncomfortable making that they are avoiding me.

All this turns my head inside out and breaks my heart and tightens my colon and keeps me wondering what I should be doing differently so that I can affect some sort of change in the situation, which is just plain silly, because I know deep in the center of my being that the only changes I can bring about are the changes within myself.  It is more about my reactions and not so much my actions that are going to bring about the most profound changes.  So, I am quietly working on me--well, maybe not so quietly.  Pretty groundbreaking stuff, huh?  Positively earth shattering *eyes rolling*.  Trust me, I am talking big here because this is all waaaay easier said than done.  Because life is complicated and people and relationships are even more complex and family dynamics are a goddamn Rubik's Cube.  And from where I stand, Dr. Headshrinker is going to be fat, dumb and sassy before he gets through unscrewing my head tightening whats loose and putting it all back together again. But, in my heart of hearts I truly believe that we--me--us--the family--are well worth it.  Totally worth it.

xoxo Darya