Name: Christina A.
Occupation: Retirement Consultant.
Location: Glendale, CA.
I never thought to ask for a raise until I was in my 40s. It blows my mind cuz I gave 12 years of my life to that company. I learned a lot, don’t get me wrong; I’m still using some of those skills in my work today.
When I finally did a money awareness course, it dawned on me like a piano dropped on my head, that I had some major issues around money.
To begin, my family never spoke about money.
I mean, are you kidding me?
My father, may he rest in peace, had his some heavy shit around money.
I remember this one time when I asked him how much he made –
I mean, I might’ve just said, “How many times do you masturbate a week?”
He never answered me.
In my family, we never spoke about 2 things: sex and money – and we would probably speak first about sex before money.
In the early days of my company, I would write “Maybe you could send me the money you owe me / your invoice has been probably overdue by 30 days, blah blah.
Maybe, can I please, do you mind, that kinda shit.
To this day sometimes I catch myself writing those words.
But God created the delete button, and damn am I grateful.
How time flies…
Last year we had an extraordinary, out of the ordinary, holiday season. Check it out below:
No holiday food.
No other homes.
Lots of invitations.
This year we are at home.
This year we welcome a new member to the family so simplicity is key.
This year things are unconventional.
Am I sad? Probably not.
Am I missed? Probably not.
Am I forgotten? Probably not.
Continue reading “it’s been a year…”
Hey there Jackie,
Happy 1 year anniversary
We love you to the moon and back. ♥
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Mind spouting obscenities
How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?
It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
Get off –
Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”
He’s just too much. It’s like I’m living with a teenager. And it’s really ethereal; he gets on your nerves in this really subtle, papercut way. Tiny actions that add up.
He doesn’t pick up after himself, he leaves the water filter empty, he puts his dirty runners on the couch, he never washes the dishes, he comes home past 2am drunk every night – you can hear him staggering into bed, reeking of cigarettes.
That part? I can tolerate that.
Hard to believe, but it’s true.
I can tolerate all of it.
It’s the subtle shit that makes me want to blow my brains out.
He never asks me how I’m doing, he never asks how my day went. He walks into a room, interrupts a conversation and starts talking about the failed connection he just had with this woman and that.
But get this.
He doesn’t see it as a failure; there’s a kind of delusions of grandeur happening. Time and time again, women have shown in their very mercurial, catlike, non-confrontational ways: they’re not interested.
So, why don’t you get it?
They don’t write back. They don’t call back. They ignore you. Broken promises. They say thanks but no thanks by not saying it.
That part would make me wanna blow my brains out too.
Women suck at communicating with the opposite sex. Period. Continue reading “you’re not alone”