Not So Blonde

The Teen Years

Today I had BIG PLANS to post about the teen and how proud I am of him. Since, ya know, I realize I don’t post about the teen very much at all.

This is mostly because any time he does anything I roll my eyes at, laugh with him over, look at him with a look that says: boy, are you CRAZY? - he will follow it up with, “Mom, are you putting this on your blog?”

It takes all the fun out of talking about him. I get it, though, I do. I used to HATE when my mom would talk about me with the ladies at her job. Her job. Ladies at her job that I would hardly ever see and I would get mad at that!

And now here I am, talking about the boy with the whole INTERNET. Poor baby. Mommybloggers, start saving the money for therapy now. You’re gonna need it.

I’m starting to think of this whole raising a teen thing like the scene outside the club in Knocked Up. You know, when the bouncer tells the chick: “I can’t let you in cuz you old as fuck.”

I’ve said it before but it bears repeating… no matter how hip you think you still are, no matter what you did when you were younger, no matter what you wear or music you listen to that makes you think you’re still relevant - IT DOESN’T MATTER.

There will come a time that your teen child will think you’re old as fuck… and you will not be let into their teen club.

And you want to scream: I don’t want in your stupid club! I’ve been to that club and it’s wack! The music sucked, the girls were sluts, the guys were ugly and the drinks were watered down! Fuck your club, anyway, TEENAGER!

But you still, secretly, want in the club. You want to be accepted. You want them to let you cut in line, raise the velvet ropes and allow you to flounce on in… but the teen stops you: HALT. You are not welcome here!

And you. You with your 8, 9, 10 year old sitting there thinking you’re immune - oh ho ho, my friend. Your kid is going to hit 13 and gone are those fun days. Those buddy days. Those “my kid would never do that” days. SHUT IT. They WILL. Prepare yourselves. Batten down the hatches! The teen years are a-comin’!

My mom tried to warn me, I know. I didn’t listen. Not my boy, not him! He’s so sweet! So loving! Yeah. Thanks, mom. You tried.

All that to say, I’m proud of this young man. PROUD. Pride fills my heart, threatens to overflow and make a huge mess all over myself… bigger than the mess that sent me home from work early this afternoon. Oh boy. ‘Nother post, ‘nother day…

I bought the boy some cargo pants and a polo at Old Navy this weekend. Cargo pants size 34×34 and polo shirt size XXL. Thinking both would be WAY too big but they were on major sale, so, hey.

But, joke is on me since both fit. A teensy bit big, but fit. My buddy, my baby, my son… he’s 14 (and a HALF!) and 6′2″.

He’s a Freshman in high school and doing incredibly well. He’s in accelerated classes that he wanted to take, by the way, doing better than I ever thought he would.

He’s in football for the first time ever (outside of tag) and has practices every day. Practices that keep him on campus til nearly 7 at night. Long after I’ve said SCREW THIS at my office and made my way home to decompress.

And he never complains. He attacks life with vigor that I never had. These times I prayed for, yearned for, attempted to prepare him for - they’re here. And he’s doing so well.

He got out of the car at the high school today and I looked at him starting to walk away from me and I wanted to cry.

But I didn’t cry. I looked at him in those should be too-large clothes (that weren’t) and put my hand on his back and said, “Have a good day. Call me if you need anything.” And I let him walk away.

P.S. That last part made me think of this song:

Which just made me infinitely un-cooler in the teen eyes, I’m sure. This was the jam, son! You just don’t understand…

Deep Thoughts… by Mary Handey

I don’t like a lot of cutesy talk and nicknames. Not there is anything wrong with that stuff, I just don’t like it for R and I. This is probably in no small part to the ex-hub having a new nickname for me every other day. *shiver*

Usually, R and I call each other honey or baby (ironically, when I’ve done something really airhead-ish is when R breaks out the “baby”) or we often resort to each other’s last names.

I know! That last one is weird. If you saw R and I in real life, you’d hear me call him his last name over his first any day of the week. Same goes for him.

Typing that seems so… not loving. But it is, in our weird way. I can handle that. We mostly do it when we’re being sarcastic. And R and I? Are sarcastic pretty much every moment we’re awake. I think my sarcasm is one of the things R first fell in love with. Either that, or it was this ass! It’s a toss up.

One thing I hate is when R refers to me as “dog”. Reason being: I’m not his dog, I’m his girlfriend.

It’s one of those things you wish could let slide when it happens, because I know R is trying to be cute when he does it. But, I can not let it slide. I feel the need to say something. Every time.

I will haven’t heard from R in a couple of days and I’ll get a text that will say, “What’s up, dog?” And I stop being worried about him and start getting irritated - within seconds.

I just realized I also hate being called “bitch”. Not that R calls me bitch. When he’s been highly irritated with me, he’s called me “bitchy” before… and, well, let’s say that will start a fight anew. I think I probably don’t like being called anything dog-like.

~~~

R texted a while ago and said he was going to call later. Wonderful. We haven’t talked ON THE PHONE in about 2 weeks and tonight just happens to be one of those nights that I feel incapable of saying much more than, “I missssssssssss youuuuuuuuuuuu…”

~~~

Got new self tanner. It said on the bottle it smells like limes. Yeah. ROTTEN LIMES. But I have to say, I’m liking the color so far. Check back with me later. I’m so white that I need to see the color right away - so I can correct it! I have to say this one seems to be holding up rather well… and sort of gives a nice sheen to my legs.

Watch me wake up tomorrow a mottled mess and hate it.

~~~

I’m on a save money kick. Okay, not as much save money as - “Bee, start taking care of those bills and stop acting like your ass is independently (Ne-Yo’s new one) wealthy.”

I decided instead of getting a pedicure for my bi-weekly treat (new thing), I’d do my toes myself and take a few items into the cheap-o dry cleaner by my house to be pressed.

After the fourth re-application of toe polish, came to the conclusion the professional pedicure is worth the money it takes to keep my ass in one place until the toes dry. Aggravating!

~~~

I hate a lot of fish. I especially hate a lot of frozen, microwavable fish. But have decided this Lean Cuisine meal is one of my new favorites. Too bad I can’t take it to work since I don’t want to be the one stinking out the break room.

~~~

Remind me to never let my apartment get as disgustingly messy as I did this past week. Would y’all believe it if I told you I still hadn’t unpacked my bags from San Diego? TWO WEEKS AGO? No wonder I fell off the Wardrobe Remix wagon.

See, I know better. I know when I’m depressed how much more depressed a messy ass house can make me but, sometimes, it’s like I can’t help myself. Shit stacks up on top of more shit. Dishes pile up in the sink… and all I feel capable of is laying down and not moving. It’s not a good feeling. Must stop.

~~~

I’m excited for Robin Thicke’s new album. I know at least one person who isn’t, though, and that would be R. I wore the shit out of Mr. Thicke’s last cd when R and I went to Mexico last year. To the point R would probably cry if he ever heard the man’s voice again. But, no matter, I love this song. Enjoy.

P.S. I could swear he sings, “All I got is coffee all around me…” Addicted much?