Home Adulting Beer. Therapy. Fireworks

Beer. Therapy. Fireworks


Welcome to the week in Mama Time! I’ve been working hard on freelance work and the new jobby job and have lost all semblance of a blogging schedule for y’all. Humbly apologizing seems appropriate but so not my style. So yeah, I would if I felt like it was something I needed to do. Damn I’m feeling hella snarky today.

So, it’s Thursday and….

I’m at a loss for what to share here today. Maybe a 4th of July recap? Perhaps a post writing about my most recent therapy session with the Bio? Or maybe something about how I now always have beer in my fridge? Ugh. I don’t know guys. There’s tons to share. But, but, but…I know excuses are for the lame and weak. *cracks knuckles* Let’s get this shit out and done. Keep up if you can…

Beer in the Fridge?
Sunday I made a run to Trader Joe’s to grab some highly needed essentials like crappy yogurt and avocados and wine must never forget the wine. Upon arriving home and putting away the grocery wanna-be items and began to clean out the fridge of gross leftovers that have not been eaten in weeks and weeks. As I did that I realized that the Heineken level in my fridge was down to only two and the Guy would be coming over. There was a serious moment of self-judgement about my lack of ability to check the case of beer and actually make sure it had beer in it. Then I laughed at myself a little bit. Why all the hilarity at my own expense? Well for starters the last handful of guys who have taken up room in space have barely gotten usage of my toilet let alone keeping beer or anything else in my space. I’ve had a very selfish this is my space attitude. There is a definite difference here. My space doesn’t feel suffocated with the Guy in it. It still feels like mine but different in a baby steps way. There is comfort with him being there and even when he’s gone it’s good. I see his beer in the fridge and it serves as a reminder that he is there even when he’s not. Most importantly I don’t mind him being there or his stuff for that matter.

Fourth of July!
The Guy and I spent the whole weekend together. Starting Friday with a concert he helped me win tickets to at the EchoPlex with one of my favorite bands, Blonde RedHead being the headliner. We immersed ourselves in the indie rock crowd and one of the most mellow venues in the whole L.A. area ever. Saturday found us lounging, working and then having dinner with the Rachel. It’s days like that where I feel the most at ease. No where to be and nothing in particular to do. As the weekend moved along there was just an amazing flow to our watching documentaries and his sharing shows with me that I have never had the inclination to watch and thanks to him am now obsessed with watching in order to get caught-the-fuck up! By the time the fourth had rolled around we were a good four days into hang out time and the Monkey was coming home in the afternoon. (I should probably also mention that my Guy has generously begun painting a giant Green Bay Packers G on the Monkey’s wall as per his request.) So yeah, the Monkey came home and my Guy was still in my house. In the Monkey’s room painting. The Monkey and my Guy met. We hung out pretty much for eight hours and it was not without it’s moments of oddness but my Guy got to see what it’s like when the Monkey comes home from being with the Bio. How he gets upset about tiny things that don’t matter. How after a bit when he mellows he’s just a kid. How uptight the Bio can make the Monkey. It’s all true facts. I couldn’t make this shit up. While I felt the pang of newness from the first meeting, I also did not panic for one moment leading up to or during the whole process. We ate BBQ prepared by yours truly, played, listened to music and watched fireworks later that evening. Baby steps.

Therapy with the Bio 
As we all know I look forward to nothing more than my fifty minutes locked in a tiny room with the Bio and our therapist (who is a Rock Star btw). Since he’s been on my jock for the last couple of months I had nothing really to complain about other than the issues I have with his food habits. No he’s not a fast food addict he’s an Organic Soldier with a giant flag that he carries while smoking Parliament Lights. BAM! How do you like them apples? I guess that’s what happens when you get sober though, right? Find something else to obsess over on the daily that makes you feel about yourself while still managing to defile your lungs. At any rate, the Monkey has become a little Food Nazi (like the Soup Nazi not those other ones that were evil and mean and annihilated people) in the first 24-hours he’s back from the Bio’s house. And by house I mean the place he rents a room from that is owned by his sponsor. It gives me the warm and fuzzies that he settles for mediocrity in some places in his life and in others overachieves at being an asshat. So therapy was spent explaining that his Food Flag was not the Monkey’s to carry at this age and if he chooses to become a douche about food as an adult than he can but I don’t want to raise a boy with a food complex who becomes obsessed with it and then ends up with body issues. He’s a fracking kiddo. Ugh. Thanks be to Jeebus that the therapist was on my side for this one and she didn’t understand placing such a high standard on a little one for food knowledge and choices. By the time we were done he agreed to tone down the food message and then proceeded to ask for a hug. A fracking hug people. This is what I live with. Ugh.

Okay, and recap done! I feel better. It’s one of those moments where Mama is just in need of rebooting. Oh and also the blog is moving eventually to a new area and prettier space. I’m lucky my Guy knows shit about shit since I don’t know nada.

Peace out. xoxoxxxxx.


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