Frenemy

It's been a year now, and I'm ready to talk about it.

I got dumped.

Friend Dumped that is.

First of all, I'd like to say that this is my point of view. Obviously I only have one side of the story. I will readily admit that I have huge faults, this story is just my account of what happened.

In January of 2012 I was introduced to a local blog that was looking for contributors. I went to an introductory meeting and met a lot of great people. I didn't start writing articles right away, but I started contributing photos and volunteering for events. I thought this time I spent made me not only a contributor but also a friend of the editors. Especially the Main Editor.

Main Editor has a child who is a similar age to my youngest, and we had some similarities in our backgrounds. After we became friends on Facebook I started spending a lot of time with her. She'd post things on Facebook, asking for rides or a babysitter so she could take care of blog business. She had neither a car or a drivers license. Since I was a stay at home mom with Joe not in school I had lots of time, a car, and no job. I volunteered a lot for these tasks.

We'd also meet up for playdates with other moms and kids, sometimes we'd meet at a park and sometimes I'd pick her up and drive. Over the months I became friends with the other two editors and started getting invited to more social events. Birthday parties, karaoke nights, barbecues. I was always happy to be a designated driver, since I was driving a huge Suburban and don't drink.

In June I started writing articles. In October I was put on "probation". I still don't really know why.

Now, just to set the record straight, I really thought we were friends. She confided in me. She invited me to things. Not everything was "Can anybody [give me a ride, watch my kid, help out]!?!" and I just happened to be able to do it.  She specifically contacted me too. I was there to listen to her personal problems. I was there to be supportive during her pregnancy. I took her to prenatal appointments in another town and watched her daughter for her so she could go alone. Another of the editors and I threw her a baby shower.

All this time I was also contributing and volunteering for her local blog. I was a friend and an employee. Only, I worked for free.

Once, she watched Joe so I could go to my Female Doctor alone. Once, she gave me $5 in gas money. Once, she gave me leftover brownies.

At the baby shower the other hostess provided Thank You notes, we had everyone address their own envelopes so that the new mom just had to write them and mail them. I did get a thank you note. In it she called me a "crafty such-and-such". I don't even know what that means.

That was all the thanks I got. Ever.

In May of 2013 I received an email from "the Editors" listing all the things I was doing wrong for the blog. Listing how horrible and embarrassing I'd been. The email came out of the blue and I was dumbstruck.

I was devastated.

I literally cried for a whole weekend.

I composed myself and sent an email back. I apologized for everything and tried to explain myself. I never heard back.

I could see that the email was sent from the Main Editor and that the other two editors had only been cc'd on it. I contacted them and they were just as surprised as I was.

I continued doing what I'd been doing, writing articles and volunteering for events, but I started to watch things a little more closely. Main Editor still asked for favors, still made empty promises of reciprocation, but I stopped volunteering. I noticed that whenever anyone else needed help she never stepped up. Ever.

Then, I noticed that I wasn't seeing her many, many self-promoting Facebook statuses any more. I noticed that when I volunteered for things for the local blog they were handed to other people unless there was nobody else to do it. All the perks went to other people. Never to me. In my year and a half of volunteering I got free tickets to one show, and the only reason I managed that was because the original person couldn't go. I had been with the blog longer than anyone (other than the editors) and I was constantly and consistently passed over. The new people were more important to her than I was.

In July I realized that she'd "unfriended" me.

I was never fired, I was passive-aggressively pushed out.

In August 2013 I asked one of the other editors to remove my material from the local blog and I left the blog's Facebook group.

Some time after that she blocked me on Facebook. I'm still blocked. I only know this because we have mutual friends and sometimes I see them reply to her in their posts.

I never posted publicly about this before now. I discussed it with the other editors, and I chatted about things with a few friends. That's it.

I still don't know what I did wrong.

Honestly, I don't care.

I know that I was a good friend. I spent my time, money, and emotions on a relationship that was one sided. I promoted her and her projects with enthusiasm. I was never anything but friendly and supportive. I gave and gave.

I got used up. When I had nothing more to give I was dumped and she moved on to other willing targets.

This has been a lesson to me. I've learned to look at my relationships. I've learned to be a little more selfish. I now know that any relationship is only good if it's balanced.

That doesn't mean that I expect payback for every little thing. It means that friendships are supposed to be mutually beneficial. I get just as much out of it as I put into it.

I've found that I have a lot of surface friends. People who are willing to turn up when there's going to be fun but are nowhere to be found when I just need somebody to listen to me cry for a while.

I also found have a few deeper friends. People who will come sit and chat with me while I do housework because I'll go crazy otherwise. People who will remember my birthday without Facebook reminding them. People who actually care about me. People who appreciate me.

******

Joe still sometimes asks to play with her little girl. It breaks my heart every time I have to tell him that her mom doesn't like me any more, so his friend can't come over and play.

Another Story Time

What time is it? 

4:30

It's not late

Naw

Naw

It's Early

Early

I miss the 90s.

Actually it's 3:16.  I woke up around 12:30 for a trip to the bathroom and just couldn't fall back to sleep.  I am normally a very sound sleeper, but when I get disturbed I have a really, really hard time getting sleep to come around again.

Since it's the middle of the night and there is nothing to do I'm here on my blog. Rambling about nothing.

Let's see, what should I tell y'all about this time.... Oh, I've got it.

I'm going to tell you about the time I got pneumonia (Holy Cow I spelled it right on my first try!)


When I was about 10 my parents took us on a great winter vacation to some kind of hotel/lodge.  I don't think it was a ski resort but I remember we went tubing.  What I do know is that the hotel had an indoor heated pool and hot tub.  We got a big kick out of that and I think we spent more time in that pool than anywhere else.  My sister and I especially had fun in the hot tub, going under water and playing with the jets.

About a day and a half into our vacation I started feeling sick.  Really sick.  I started running a fever and I was hot enough that my parents decided we'd better go to the hospital.  As we were leaving the hotel we happened to pass by the hot tub and for the first time since we got there it wasn't running.  It was nasty.  There was some kind of green film on top of the water.  I don't remember it, but I've heard the story. My mom says it looked like pond scum or algae.  If she'd seen it first she never would have let us in that thing.

When we got to the hospital after a torturous car ride I had the pleasure of having my ears scraped out and trying to stand still for X-Rays while I was freezing and weak. Turns out I had an infection in both ears and full-blown pneumonia.  I was given a prescription and my mom filled it there in the hospital.  I had to take one of the pills right away, so she got me over to a water fountain and I took it.

I got about four steps from the fountain before I 'unswallowed' all over my little brother.  He was about four years old at the time and had a beloved Care Bear, Grumpy.  I covered this poor boy from head to toe in sick and all he did was stand there, bottom lip quivering and said the words that would soon become family legend,

"She trew up on Drumpy!" (My Joey sounds a lot like Dan did at that age!)

He didn't care at all that he had just been covered in vomit, his only concern was for his precious Grumpy.  Sweet kid.  My poor dad had to take my little brother into the Mens room to try to somehow hose him off while my mom took me into the Ladies to clean me up.  I don't remember how they cleaned him up, but I think having vacation clothes in the car probably helped.

When we finally got home I was put to bed.  The next bit of my memory is really hazy. I had a waterbed at that time and I remember that every time I rolled over or moved the waves made me nauseated.  I also remember feeling so thirsty but the only thing I could hold down was ice water.  If it wasn't absolutely freezing cold I couldn't stomach it.  I was so in and out of reality that I would pick up the cup next to my bed thinking it was just a few minutes old when really it had been filled hours before.  I'd take a huge gulp of lukewarm water and that would start the fireworks all over again.

When I finally started feeling better I asked what day it was.  My mom told me it was Wednesday, so I thought I'd been out of it for three days, since I'd gone to the hospital on a Saturday.  Apparently it was Wednesday of the next week.  There is a whole week of my life that I have absolutely no memory of.  My fourth grade class even made me a Get Well Soon card, but I don't remember seeing it.  I heard about it when I got back to school.

My lungs have never been the same since then.  I've been told I have permanent damage from the pneumonia.  I'm not sure exactly what that means, other than I get winded a little more easily.  I was never a very athletic kid, so it didn't matter much.

There you have it, the story of how I single handed-ly ruined a great family get-away. You've got to admit, I really did the job thoroughly! I not only puked on my brother, I'm pretty sure I gave my sister a phobia of hot tubs.  I don't know how long it took her to get over that.  Yep, when I ruin a vacation I do it with flair!


Well, it's 4:06 now.  I'm still wide awake but I think I'm going to try to go back to bed.  I've still got a couple hours before I have to get the kids up.  Maybe I can get a little sleep.  Good night!

Story Time #1: Why My Dad Is My Hero

I've been told I should write down some of my stories.  I have a ton of them, but I'm not sure how they could actually go together in some kind of book.  Instead I'll write them down here and share them with you all.  If any book publishers are reading feel free to contact me and I'm sure we can work something out.

My first story is a sweet little number about why my dad is my hero.

My dad is an awesome guy.  I don't want to get into too much back story, so let me just tell you two things you need to know about my dad in order for this story to make sense.  1.) My dad is retired Army.  He could kill a man with his bare hands or whatever rudimentary tools happen to be nearby. 2.)  My dad is super mellow and incredibly easy going.  He could kill you, but he's just too great a guy to actually do it.  It takes a lot to get him riled up in any way.

I've only seen my dad get really angry a few times in my life.  When my dad gets really angry it's scary.  That's when it's easy to see the soldier.

The times he's been really angry have only been when a member of his family is being threatened.  This is my story.

When I was a little kid I used to have a recurring nightmare about a Nazi with a German Shepherd who was coming to get me.  Every time I had the dream (twice a year or so) the Nazi was getting closer and closer.  When I was 12 I dreamed that he was across the street from my house. Then I never had the dream again.

Fast forward to me at 16.  My mom had a gas card for Circle K as a perk from her job and we were all allowed to use it to fill up our cars.  Pretty nice perk, right?  There was a Circle K about a half mile from our house and the next nearest was more like three miles away.

One day after I'd given my mom my gas receipts she noticed that for the past few weeks I'd been going out of my way to use the farther station.  Of course, she wanted to know why I was driving so far out of my way when the other station was so much closer and easier to get to.

Well, there happened to be a creepy guy who looked just like the Nazi from my old dream that liked to hang out at the nearer Circle K.  He would just stand by the counter and flirt with the girl who worked there and he'd flirted with me a little too.  Nothing to bad, just mild banter.  Still, it creeped me out enough that I stopped going to that station. (This station was old, there were no card readers at the pump.  I actually had to go into the station to pay.  The far station was newer and I could pay at the pump.)

My dad was in the room when I explained this all to my mom.  She looked over at my dad, he simply nodded to her and told me, "Get in your car, we're going to get gas."

When we got to the station he asked me if the guy was in there and I pointed him out.  I got my gas and my dad told me to go in and pay as usual.  He said he'd be right behind me.

I went in and just like I'd said the creepy guy was flirting with the cashier and said something to me.


My dad went ballistic.


I mean that literally.  My dad turned into a weapon.  He physically swelled up and just lashed out at the guy.  He didn't yell, but he wasn't speaking softly by any means.

"DON'T you DARE speak to my daughter.  What are you doing here bothering the people who work here and bothering underage girls.  YOU need to find a new place to be.  If I EVER hear of you loitering here when my daughter comes to get her gas you will have ME to deal with."

My dad was probably 6 inches shorter than this guy but I saw Creepo literally shrinking away.  The ladies behind the counter were startled at first and just kind of stared at my dad.  After my dad watched the guy leave the station he went out and stood by my car.  I sheepishly paid and kind of mumbled "Sorry."  The lady who was ringing me up was grinning and told me not to be sorry, that guy had been bugging her for weeks and just wouldn't take the hint to leave.  She was thrilled my dad had gotten rid of him for her too!

And that is one of the reasons why my dad is my hero!