Saturday, February 19, 2011

Just being bitchy

I'm tired and in the mood to rant. I just got home from work and let a no-neck woman get under my fingernails. I wanted to write an article for the examiner about hair during fashion week...yada yada yada, but haven't blogged in a while and I need to make myself laugh even if no one else does.

These past two weeks have been insane and I am finally coming down from an "Oh my God my freaking kids are amazing high". Now I need to feel amazing. Don't get me wrong, nothing makes me happier than when my children do well, because I know, and my husband will always give me the credit, that it is all because of me. But for the past twenty something years my life has been lived for my husband, my children and "our" business. Now it is my turn.

So back to no-neck, who also has a 70's fro: I am at the salon listening to her voice and feeling a familiarity. I get her name and when she informs me of her occupation, the light bulb goes on. I know her from the years I ran "our" business. (That'll be another blog someday.) I never personally saw her, we only spoke on the phone, but I remember that she always kind of irked me a little because she always had a woman hard on for my husband. I don't know why I let it bother me. It would take three of me to equal her and she is at least fifteen years my senior. I clearly am aware that my husband would never find her attractive, however I am starting to feel some angst towards her.

I inform her of who I am and she immediately begins to rave about how effin wonderful my husband is.  My DH stops by for some money (that's right, I'm wearing the pants today) and I tell him of the client I am currently waxing. When he brings me coffee shortly after (yes, he is sweet) he stops in to say hello and strikes up a conversation with Mighty Joe Young. (OMG, I am going to Hell!) After he leaves, she goes on and on and on and on and on about how young he looks and he doesn't age and how awesome he was as a DJ. I don't answer her because I don't really want to hear it. Now she is pushing for a response and asks when did I meet him, was he always a disc jockey and I briefly and curtly answer because my insecurity and jealousy is flooding me with anxiety.

I felt angry towards my husband. Even though he was taking care of our children, driving them everywhere, picking me up from work, shopping for dinner and cooking it, I wanted to scream at him. So I write and in writing I am in the middle of self-discovery. Maybe I'm not as funny as I wanted, but it's cathartic nonetheless. I don't dislike this woman, even though she was a tad over bearing. I disliked the fact that for ten years, I listened to those comments incessantly as I toiled to make "our" business successful for sometimes up to 80 hours a week, while my husband would go out, do the gig and get all of the credit. It hurt and it didn't help that I am already low on the self-esteem scale. It still hurts when I hear it, but now I've learned to ignore it (or try to). 

When we closed "my" part of the business and downsized tremendously due to the economy, I was devastated. For months I couldn't get a job and fought off a mild depression. I am now grateful for the experience of owning a business and having it as successful as it was, even if I didn't get all of the credit, my husband gave me what I needed, but most importantly, I knew in my heart the truth. I am writing and finally working in a salon. I am exercising and enjoying my life and not always feeling like everyday is being lived for someone else (except for the carpooling-need to fix that). My kids have been given more responsibilities and chipping in to help out. A little wine and a little whine every now and then add to a much happier ME.

Now that I have vented, I am going to eat some fabulous chicken cutlets and garlic carrots, have a glass of red and start to write an examiner article. Check out my latest article http://www.examiner.com/hair-care-in-long-island/lynbrook-dancers-take-home-first-place-trophy on one of my amazing and talented boys. Ciao!

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