The goal of anger management is to reduce both your emotional feelings and the physiological arousal that anger causes. You can't get rid of, or avoid, the things or the people that enrage you, nor can you change them, but you can learn to control your reactions. Unfortunately, I must have been absent the day those genes were given out. I speak my mind. Most of the time it doesn't have the desired effect. So what's a girl to do? Call a few friends, have a few beers, and forgetabouit!!!!!
I miss writing on my blog.
I miss my old life.
I miss my old house.
I miss my husband.
I miss knowing I would spend my entire life with a man who was so handsome, he still took my breath away, even after 20 years and with all his faults!
I miss being kissed.
I miss slow dancing.
I miss comfortable silences.
I miss my mother.
I miss being a good mother.
I miss my mothers advise, which made me a better mother.
I miss Devin.
I miss having to take care of my family.
I miss being content staying home with my family.
I miss my father not living near me.
I miss my porch.
I miss my back yard in the spring.
I miss my back yard in the summer.
I miss my old life.
I miss my old friends.
I miss my sister.
I miss my niece.
I miss my nephews.
I miss my Aunt Babe before she had Alzheimer's.
I miss my Grandmother.
I miss walking up the street and running into 3/4 of my family.
I miss late night escapes to my cousin Tomasina's house.
I miss her kids breaking into my house.
I miss having fun with my Aunt Patsy.
I miss having arts and crafts girls nights when all the girls were little.
I miss Miss Harriet.
I miss driving a Mercedes.
I miss being able to afford a Mercedes.
I miss Gang Picnics at North Park.
I miss hearing my parents and their friends sing.
I miss walking up Lakeview Ave and stopping to have a beer with Bernie Flannery in By the Way.
I miss summers in Conneaut.
I miss being a snack mother.
I miss inviting friends over to the house.
I miss being thin and healthy.
I miss being a wife.
I miss constant activity in my house.
I miss my college friends.
I miss planning get togethers.
I miss entertaining often.
I miss being proud of my life.
I miss enjoying life.
I miss happiness.
I miss contentment.
I miss being hopeful.
I miss looking forward to what life brings me next instead of dreading the day ahead.
I miss the fact that I didn't realize the impact of losing two people in my life (my husband and my mother) would have on the rest of my life.
Domestic violence doesn't discriminate. It is in every race, religion and economic class. Hell, it even crosses political lines!!!! Domestic violence doesn't even care if you are a Democrat or a Republican.
As a society, we have to work harder to end these senseless deaths. We have to work harder to educate the victims. We have to work harder to get them the help they need. We have to work harder to educate the court system. But most of all, after they finally get the courage to leave, we have to work harder to educate the law enforcement community to take the threats they get from the abusers seriously.
Woman stay in abusive relationships for a variety of reasons. It is not up to us to judge. If you have a friend or family member who is victim of domestic violence, just be there for them and offer your help. Especially if they finally get the courage to leave.
I've had at least three friends that were victims of domestic violence. Each one was handled differently. When I found out my childhood friend was being abused, I went and confronted him publicly in front of all of his friends. I threw him up against the wall and told him if he was in the mood to hit a woman, please call me. I'll give him a good fight. I have a brown belt in karate. I shoved him across the room, and told the guys he was with what a real "man" he was. I shouldn't have done that. Unfortunately, he went home and took his anger out on my friend. He beat the crap out of her. I felt terrible. Luckily, she left him shortly after that.
My second friend was a victim only once. When she got out of the house, her and I went to the police and sat in night court all night waiting for a judge to sign a temporary PFA. It took so much courage for her to leave. The police and judge all just rolled their eyes at her as if to say, "yeah, sure you'll leave him. We will see you back here again." She never did go back. She got divorced. And is now remarried to a man that adores her and respects her. If she had stayed, her life would be much different than it is today.
Information and resources for victims of domestic violence can be found here.
If you want to hear a gut wrentching story, listen to William
Gay of the Pittsburgh Steelers telling about his mothers murder. The pain in his voice is heartbreaking
yep folks....... I'm back. I'm back to torture all you persnickety proper English speakers/writers who were lucky enough to have had decent teachers who actually taught. Unlike me, who had a 110 year old Polish nun who couldn't speak English let alone teach it.
So don't judge me as I tell my tales of anger, stupidity and absurdities that seem to follow me as I go through this crazy life,OK? I'll try not to make it too painful. At least I've lived to tell the tale!
Last week I was lucky enough to turn 55. (Thank you) But to tell you the truth, I wasn't too sad to see 54 go. It was a rough year. Probably one of the worse. But again, I lived to tell the tale. I try to focus on the fact that for a stupid ass, dirt poor girl from Lawrenceville, I've been around (ahem, no comment! When crazy things happen to me I think to myself. Hmmmm, how would this all play out as a sitcom. I not even kidding!!! Even though I bitch, I am so lucky to have had such an interesting and amazing life.
So, where was I for the past 360 some days? I guess you'll just have to check in now and then to find out now won't you. ;) I have so many stories, my head is exploding!!!!!
Annndddd, Did you really think I could keep quiet through the whole election????? Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the Saints in Heaven can this please be over. Hopefully without a President named Mitt who believes in magic underwear!
Since the AMG girls are no more, maybe I'll change the name of this blog to "I Lived To Tell The Tale" (if I can figure out how to do it ON MY NEW IPAD!! Woo hoo)
*Picture is the front of a card I bought at Wild Card in Lawrenceville. If you haven't been there, GO!!
I was looking for something in my library the other day and came across the following note from my mother. It was written on the day my husband and I returned from our honeymoon. As with most things these days, I thought back at how happy I was then, and it made me cry.
Then I looked at the other side of the note and saw that my mother had written me this lovely welcome home note on the back of a HILLS LAYAWAY advertisement, and it made me laugh out loud. This is soooo Harriet. Finding this made me miss her and Dan more than ever. And like every other memory I have of them both, it made me laugh and thankful I had them in my life. And it made me cry that they are no longer with me.
Today is my 27th wedding anniversary.
If you haven't heard of her before, listen to this song by Eva Cassidy. (Esp around the three minute mark)
All of those years we spent together Well they're part of my life forever I hold the joy with the pain And the truth is I miss you my friend
I love this song, but sometimes time ISN'T a healer. Sometimes its more than I can bear. I've been having a rough time of it lately. As Harriet would say "Better days are coming" I sure hope so mum. I sure the hell hope so.
My friend Ski called me yesterday. Since this has been a daily occurrence for 40 years or so, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But this particular conversation happened to be the same that I had with about four or five other long time friends this week.
The gist of it was that they had been thinking of me all week. Every time news came on about Hurricane Irene, they would have themselves a little chuckle.
What does that have to do with me you might ask? For that answer we have to go all the way back to 1973. I was a shy awkward junior at Lawrenceville Catholic High School. We had an English teacher named Sr. Angela. For all you English majors out there, yes, she's the reason this blog makes you cringe. I learned absolutely nothing in high school English. The proof being right here in front of your eyes.
All of you of a certain age who grew up in Lawrenceville has their own sister Angela story. I could write plenty of posts about this crazy old Polish nun that most took great pleasure into literally driving crazy. There would be one about Sr. Angela and BJ; Sr. Angela and the band room; Sr. Angela and "pennies from heaven;" I could go on and on and on........feel free to chuckle to yourself as a favorite pops into your mind. I'll give you a minute.......
Done? I bet some of you haven't thought about her in years.
How about the bangs and the white faced make up she wore that made her look dead! Sometimes I feel badly about how she was treated. But then I remember just how crazy she was!
Anyway, here's my story. For those of you that I met later in life, my name in high school was Eileen Quinlan. For some reason Sister Angela insisted my name was Irene McQuillan. FOR TWO YEARS! Stupid, I know. But it drove me crazy. When she would call on me to answer a question, the whole class would laugh. Not cool for a shy high school student. After a while I think she did it on purpose.
Word of this spread quickly considering there were only about 400 or so kids in the school. When Jeff Devinney and Georgie Duke got hold of this, I knew I was doomed to be Irene McQuillan forever.
As if that weren't bad enough.......During this time my friends and I spent many a night sharing bottles of Boone's Farm (ewwwww) wine at St. John's Ball field on 36th Street. Naturally, my curfew was about a half hour or so before anyone else my age so I was usually the first to leave to go home (We didn't want to piss off Bud!) EVERY NIGHT when I would leave to walk out of the park twenty or so 16 year old kids would break into the song "Good Nigh Irene". EVERYNIGHT! You can use your imagination as to how embarrassing this was for a shy 15-16-17-18 year old kid. Yes, it went on for years, and years, and years........
It quickly spread to everywhere I went. Everywhere! Even during basketball games when I was a cheerleader (I know, I don't believe I was a cheerleader either!!) For years.
It took only one or two visits from high school friends to Mercyhurst for "Irene" to follow me to college and beyond. Same thing for the singing. You haven't lived yet if you haven't been serenaded with "Good Night Irene" by people you hardly know while leaving a keg party with a boy you have been dying to meet since the first week of freshman year. I guess the plus side of that would be that at least he remembered my name!!! (Poor thing didn't know what he was getting himself into, God rest his soul!)
It even followed me to the FBI for cryin' out loud.
Few in the life I'm living now know me by Irene. Every once in a while, I will run into someone from my younger days and when they call me Irene, my kids or whoever I'm with think something like they must have not know me very well if they can't even remember my name.
If only.....................
Enough about me.
Happy to report that old friends and new have seemed to escape Hurricane Irene with minimal damages.
Thank God, GOOD NIGHT IRENE!!!!
Good Riddance.
*I should have named this post "What Hurricane Irene Means To Me." Sort of like the high school essay I never learned to write!!
