Book Excerpt – Two-Fer Tuesdays

pexels-photoIt was Tuesday, and I was sitting at my desk, which was two medium strides away from the bathroom, and my dead-end job was promising to bind me to it for eternity.

I had the unique and questionable privilege of being able to observe every person walking in and out of the bathroom. My co-workers, whom I also referred to as “Work Friends,” felt a deep sense of obligation to chat me up every time they used the loo… which was often, and in some cases (Derrick) too often, much to my chagrin.


“Please come to Happy Hour tonight. It’s Two-Fer Tuesdays; that’s two drinks for the price of one, but they give them both to you at the same time. We can split the cost of one drink, but each actually get a full drink of our own!” The Cogs in the machine, that’s what I called us and when I say ‘Us’ I mean the ones of us that dedicated our work hours to work and got paid a pittance for it. This was Elaine; a cog. She was always trying to make it OKAY for me to spend money with work people after work hours.

“What if I just want water?” That is how I treated Elaine: with obnoxious requests I knew she would accept.

“Yes! So you’ll come! Yay! Also, do you know Adeline?”

“No,” and frankly I wasn’t interested in knowing Adeline or anyone else from the company on a personal level. I didn’t want another excuse to NOT walk away from this job. I didn’t want it to become more bearable by making friends. I liked being the loner here.

“You’ll love her. She’s new, one of them, but you’ll love-love-love her, promise.” By Them Elaine was referring to the Marketing people. And I was suspicious of her promises of “love-love-love”.

The Marketing Team was the Pride of the company. The rest of us were just trying to survive out on the Serengeti of day jobs. And since your title defined your merit, it was difficult to blame them for believing they were the very best of the company.

I needed to get out of this Happy Hour.

“Shoot… I forgot, I might have something I already committed to, but I’ll let you know for sure by the end of the day.”

Elaine could see through my poor attempt at a lie, but honestly, the title “Marketing” was equivalent to Narcissist, and I just didn’t want to spend the evening biting my tongue and fighting the urge to challenge this newbie every time she wanted to dominate the conversation with her branding ideas. Or the numerous accolades awarded her in MBA school.

Gag.

As I watched Elaine walk away disappointed, I knew I was going to end up going, and maybe split the cost of a drink with her, and talk to this new Marketing woman – Adeline, and maybe make a new friend.

Gag.

WTH Is jayra joy?

Screen Shot 2017-02-12 at 7.48.38 PMFor the friends and family that have been asking, what is the deal with jayra joy Designs – I am dedicating this blog post to telling you what the deal is. And for those of you that only know me from my blog and as a writer – I also have a little Etsy boutique called, jayra joy Designs where I sell clothes I design and make with my business partner.

jayra joy – the name itself comes from the combination of my partner/neighbor/friend’s name and mine: Jaime + Ruthann = jayra. The JOY just happens to be the name of the beautiful little street all the magic and fun happens on…or as we like to call it our Lab of Designs.

I just love the way clothes can make me feel. They transport me into the roles and characters I feel like playing on any given day. No, I’m not saying I have multiple personalities, but I do have a lot of fun pretending. And I do have my own little quirky style that features me at my best.

Clothes have always been out of my budget. Why does so-called “quality” mean I need to sell my kidney to afford it? And why can’t we all have access to these great, staple pieces that make us feel good, and aren’t made to fit one or two body types, and are versatile and feminine?

I found myself experimenting with some of the online styling sites that send you clothes based on your preferences, budget, and style, and it was a huge fail, but I did love putting together all the boards of my favorite pieces and styles on Pinterest for them! And I found I was just creating the same outfit over and over which happened to be the exact pieces I’d worn the hell out of already in my closet and couldn’t afford to buy new ones of on my writer’s salary or lack there of.

Right before I’d found out I was pregnant I’d started collecting clothing patterns and I had the idea that I was going to sew my own clothes. My perfect A-line skirts with folded pleats and stunning tutu’s I could wear any day or night of the week. I wanted a wrap that paired with jeans and dress slacks. I wanted shirts with flutter sleeves that highlighted my arms correctly. I wanted to make clothes my way that were unique and fit, and all with the best fabrics and that would be that.

I went downtown to the fabric district and investigated. I bought a ton of amazing fabrics. A couple heavy bags worth. And then I sat in the closet with those heavy bags of fabric and I realized I had no idea how to sew and I had no sewing machine. So I started to collect more clothing patterns and I Yelped sewing classes and I thought, I can do this.

Then I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. And I forgot about making clothes and hid those heavy bags of fabric in the dark corner of my cramped closet and I just prayed I could book enough acting gigs and finish writing my first book before the pitter patter of little feet were upon me.

Cut to 2 years later, many discussions with my neighbor who just conveniently happens to be an amazing designer and owns the Olympics of sewing machines, two women with a passion for creating, and a little part time business later – we’re making clothes! Really great clothes that we love making; it’s part business, part passion.

We all should be able to do something we have a passion for: karaoke, knitting, marathons, boxing, I just happen to love designing. I’m having fun and yes, I’m still writing full time, but having the opportunity to do another thing I enjoy and provide an extra source of income for my family is a gift and I cherish it.

For everyone that has supported us and purchased from us – multiple times – thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means so much to me. It is art, and I love creating for you.

If you’re interested in checking out our shop just head to http://www.jayrajoy.com! And just for checking us out, here’s a little treat: use code HBDJAIME2017 to get 15% off your purchase! Good thru April 30, 2017. 

 

It’s Stupid To Share A FaceBook Page

Okay, can we talk for a minute? I’m interrupting my regularly scheduled blog post to ask a serious question:

WHAT is the deal with the couple-shared Facebook accounts?

Why are we teaming up?

Why do you need to be one person TrishaAndMike Williams instead of the two people that make up the union, Trisha (née Smith) Williams and Mike Williams?

Do you share one mind?

Do you never have your own personal thought?

Do you think for one another?

Are your political viewpoints always exactly the same trite, misogynistic thoughts, (mm-hmm, true story & this one bothers me)?

Who of you is going huntin’ with the guys?

Which of you is, Heading out to ladies night, and can’t wait to hang with the Bitches?

I don’t know the answer to any of this. I can make some educated guesses on a few, but I don’t want to have to. Frankly, I usually only want to be friends with one of you. You’ve made it impossible for me to comment on your status, “LIKE” a post, or share anything with you on your page for fear the wrong one of you will see it first and respond inappropriately.

I’m actually rethinking our online relationship as I type this.

And I’m sorry, but Jeff Angela Rubenwitz, I’m actually not sure which one of you is selling LuLaRoe online, or working full time at the chiropractor’s office, and moonlighting at the coffee-house, but it would be nice to know since Jeff and I aren’t familiar with each other, but I feel pretty confident that Angela would comp my $5 espresso drink so, yeah, it would be nice to know.

If I may be honest, folks, I have some theories as to why you’re coupling up on social media, and you won’t like it because my mind goes down dark corridors…

I read into your paired-up page as a massive cover-up filled with insecurity and regret. I start to think that one of you, or both of you had an illicit affair that may have started by connecting with an old flame on a dark, addictive, dishonest social media site. Maybe you both cheated on your former partners and ended up together and the fear that one of you may do it again looms overhead and so an ever present watchful eye is necessary to keep each other in line…online.

Do you manage your account “LIKES” with the same veracity you monitor your joint checking and Amazon Prime purchases?

Are you building a larger following by combining friendships?

What happens when you eventually become bored with each other and divorce? Who gets custody of the SHARED page? I have a lot of questions and I don’t think you’ve thought this through.

I’ll say it because apparently nobody else will: IT’S STUPID TO SHARE A FACEBOOK PAGE. It’s absurd. You’re absurd. You share a home, that’s enough, now sign up with your own email address…WAIT, you’re the assholes that also share an email address. GODDAMMIT. Well, no one can win here, People.

No one. Certainly not this GROSS couple:

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I Hid A Bag of Dark Chocolate Covered Almonds – For My Sanity.

IMG_5002I am wildly uptight when it comes to cleanliness and basic household etiquette. Think Monica from ‘Friends,’ but maybe a little worse (and for another day, let’s discuss the ‘Friends’ Haters… just stop, people. Stop it. I’ve watched it so many times, forwards and backwards, and you’re wrong; it’s delightful, and perfect, period).

My mother has long referred to me as fastidious.

I suppose cleaning is my way of controlling the chaos of life. There are worse “habits” used to control the uncontrollable, like not eating, binging & purging, excessive exercise, and I’ve dabbled with them all; but honestly cleaning is the one that makes me feel the most in control amidst the chaos. It’s not just the act of cleaning, it’s that a clean environment allows me to relax. And as far as addiction and personalities go, I repeat, there are far worse things than being fastidious.

It’s not just cleaning. I have to set hard boundaries within my living environment, too. You are allowed to be yourself in my home and not conform to my standards of cleanliness and I’m okay with it, but if you start to impose upon my boundaries I freak the fuck out. Maybe you do too and maybe you don’t even know it…

I have an almost 2-year-old toddler. Guess what he does? He throws food on the floor and thinks it’s funny, so I laugh and also try to teach him that food stays on our plate or at least on the table or preferably in your mouth to consume. And I don’t freak out, because he’s a baby and I can clean it and it’s totally fine. But when my 35-year-old brother in law does it and doesn’t give two craps about who will be cleaning it and what stain it may leave or that it’s happened at all, I start to panic. I swallow down the annoyance that starts to build up inside of me. I push it deep, deep down and I breath and smile, and I stare daggers at him, but I bury the pending freak out because he’s my guest, and family to boot.

I stare at his brother (my husband) and wait for a signal that it will all be fine and that he will clean it up and then I take several deep breaths, plan a 4 mile run, skip the next two meals, and buy and squirrel away a giant bag of dark chocolate covered almonds to shame-eat secretly, without sharing, and it calms the monster brewing in my belly.

You guys! It’s not just dropping food on the floor with abandon that gets under my skin: it’s the week’s worth of toothpaste stains on my new dark wood bookcase; it’s his toenail clippings in my high pile shag rug; it’s razor blades on the floor of the shower my toddler bathes in; it’s a beer bottle cap in the small hands of my 21-month-old who desperately tries to shove the jagged edged piece of metal down his throat after scraping it along his tongue.

Daggers staring down a dead man walking.

It’s wet underwear strewn across my front porch and wet towels left on top of stuffed animals to grow unneeded mildew and create more laundry that will be left for me to do. It’s empty Starbucks cups and plastic straws littering my front lawn. It is used tea bags everywhere, except in the trash.

It is so much more. It’s interminable.

And, AND it is all so unnecessary. UNNECESSARY. There are towel hooks for wet towels; there’s a dryer for your underwear; there’s a trashcan in so many different rooms plus several outside for EVERYTHING ELSE!

My eye is twitching right now, you guys. Writing this out for you is almost like reliving the frustration.

I watched for a week as our baby gates were treated as mere decorative obstacles and left open for his 35-year-old male convenience whilst my nearly 2-year-old eyeballed the staircase with Olympic-gymnast-enthusiasm.

I tell you this not to be a tattletale, not to open myself up to criticism regarding my rigidity, not to hurt feelings, but to understand myself better because I didn’t handle it well you guys. I did not.

You see, I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t clean fast enough. The mess was OUT OF CONTROL! Dirt, stains, odor… CHAOS!

I set boundaries and I believed that manners were/are self-evident. I believed baby-proofing, dining tables, and towel hooks should invite use. I expected our houseguest to know all of this without having to be told. My home is not a hotel; that’s the guesthouse out back (see that blog post) and for God’s sake the total strangers renting that out treat it better (and pay us) than my B-I-L treated our actual home while we lived in it with him for a week.

And then I lost it.

At him. On him.

I freaked the fuck out.

And I told him that towel hooks are for wet towels to be HUNG ON and baby gates are not for the convenience of adults to use at will, but to protect the life of a BABY, and that knives & razorblades & sharp jagged beer bottle caps are DEADLY WHEN SWALLOWED and that it is MY HOUSE and he should TREAT IT WITH RESPECT.

Silence.

Slowly he opened his mouth and without an ounce of thought he yelled back. Absurdities such as, ‘he didn’t know that it would require work to live with a baby’ and that ‘he didn’t know that toddlers cannot comprehend basic safety.’

The irony.

So I banished him to his (my son’s) room where he screamed and threatened to leave (on the eve of his flight home).

I agreed he should leave. A hotel is a much better place to treat with reckless abandon.

He said nothing.

He didn’t leave.

And after an hour of separation and a loaded dishwasher and cleaned counters later, I invited him to come back downstairs.

He picked up where he left off – sullying every square foot of surface area I had just spent a very angry hour cleaning to regain the control I had lost.

That one cleaning left me with a night’s worth of control, and I felt better long enough to wish him well on his flight, take a family picture with genuine smiles, and not resent the weekend-visit-turned-into-9-long-days.

My house is not completely back in order by my standards, but it is back in my control and I can sleep more soundly tonight.

And those dark chocolate covered almonds are now out in the open for everyone to share, by everyone I mean new visitors and Jason.

Casual F(riendship) Buddies

Jason told me I didn’t know how to be a casual friend. This after my long-winded self-indulgent diatribe, on why I feel like I’m the person that does all the planning and reaching out in my friendships and I still never get to see anybody, because everybody is too busy all the time!

Before you’re offended dearest friend that probably does try to make plans with me and I’m always busy or was always busy, trust me, I am and I was, I swear.

We’ve all felt like that at some point or another. We have. I know this to be true because I’ve read the countless status updates on Facebook regarding this exact theme.

The truth is, when I wasn’t married or a mother it was really easy to just hang out with friends. Drive anywhere to meet up, any hour of the day or night and still have time to work a job, sleep, eat, and be generally merry.

Now that everyone’s a bit older, it’s a GODDAM miracle to even plan a phone call.

When I was still going into an office it was a lot easier. I became friends with my officemates. We ate lunch together, gossiped on coffee breaks, met up outside for quick jaunts to stretch our cramped desk legs, planned post-work workout sessions, and sometimes there’d be a happy hour and then home. Don’t fool yourself, comrades, working for “The Man” can be amazing!

Now that I work from home, independently, I’m alone, but for my kid when he’s not at daycare, and my husband who’s doing the same thing I am. And while we adore each other’s company – hence we put a couple rings on it – it’s not the same as meeting up with girlfriends on the regular, and I miss that. I do.

I don’t have it anymore. People keep moving far away, growing in their professions, and meeting mates that take them away from friendships. And I’m happy that life is taking them on these paths. I am. I am happy for them. But where are they during those in-between moments and why aren’t we together?

Let’s be honest I’ve never been very good at being a girls’ girl who plans “Girls’ Night” and weekend “get-aways” for the crew. I’ve never even had a crew. I never even went away on spring break in college – I worked… as desktop support at the on-campus computer lab. So, I don’t have an awful-secret-I-know-what-you-did-last-summer blackmail to bind anyone to me in a relationship.

And my history of making and nurturing friendships is hazy. It took years of therapy and overcoming a confusing upbringing to understand why, how, and what to look for in a friendship, which boils down to two things:

1 – Stay away from people with BPD and

2 – Stop trying to fix people with BPD.

Then, once I had my baby, I found out that I really don’t have that many deep and personal friendships. Because when I could no longer be the one to reach out and continuously coddle, listen, and make my time in our friendship yours BECAUSE I have a baby that needs me and frankly with all the hormones that were driving through my body, and an ill mother, and no familial support, I needed you and you weren’t there.

That’s right, nobody called. Nobody showed up. No friends checked in, regardless of whether they’d been through it before or not. And let me be frank, you don’t notice that I’m not in your life anymore. If you did you’d call or text or try to make plans.

Then I needed someone, I needed someone very badly to come and tell me I was okay. I texted a lot of people (I called too, but you know – we push that shit to voicemail) and mostly got the same response:

“I’m so busy maybe we can meet up for a drink in the next few weeks.”

“Good to hear from you. I’m super busy right now.”

“Ohmygosh, I’m so happy to hear from you. I am SOOOOO busy right now.”

“I’m busy, but maybe like next week? I’ll let you know my schedule.”

“Do you want to go to yoga with me? Yeah? Great, I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Do you want to grab a drink, I’m free Thursday at 6pm.”

“I’m having drinks with people at 6, come if you can.”

“We’re having drinks, maybe 6/7ish, come if you want.”

“Drinks at 6, come by. Or don’t.”

I was a new mom, nursing and alone at 6 PM with an infant and frankly, I wasn’t ready to leave him with a babysitter. I just wanted someone to come over and be my friend.

Embarrassed, but also scared of being alone, I called my neighbor. She answered, no voicemail. And I hesitantly asked her if she could come over and hang out with me. She did, immediately, no questions asked, and she sat next to me on the couch and she told me all the gossip in her life and I laughed for the first time in what had seemed like a long time. And she held my baby and she didn’t dump a single problem on me. She was the best a friend could ever be, and incidentally, still is.

And I realized as our lives change we really do grow up and grow apart, just like couples in marriages. While there’s no divorce in friendships it sure does feel like the same alienation process, the same pain, the same dividing of mutual friend assets.

We move on and realize our needs have changed. I need my friends to be physically present in my life. I need the tangible. I need to feel your energy next to mine. I need hugs and non-verbal cues, things that can only come from being in each other’s personal space.

And I believe that some friendships, despite their current distance, physically or metaphorically, are worth the extra work and patience, because they are worth it in the long haul. But those are few and far between.

And while it often feels deeply personal, it’s not. It has nothing to do with me as a friend. It has everything to do with them and their life, and what they’re going through. I need to move on from that, them, and understand that being a casual friend is okay because in the long run my feelings will be far less hurt.

 P.S. Update: Girls’ Trip scheduled in May with my old crew.

P.P.S. Forgot I had a crew.