When my Anna and her Vito passed, my great grandparents, I got his ring and one meatball. Everyone in the family got a meatball nana made from her deep freezer. The ring was made in Italy by my great grandmother to her husband when they were 20. It’s beautiful gold and red. One ring, one meatball, so Italian. Of all my cousins I feel so blessed to have gotten the ring. My uncle Jamie should have gotten the ring, but he killed himself when I was ten. My grandma Diane, who I’m named after is the first born of four daughters. My mother is her oldest living child. I’m my mother’s only child. My daughter is first born. It’s kind of magical. I do have an uncle Derek who the ring could have gone to but I suppose they wanted it to go to the youngest generation.
In truth, besides genealogy, I’m not sure why I was picked. I feel the intent. Build a house, host the family parties. Be the new Daleo house. I wish I was privy to the conversation. My nickname in the family is Baby Diana and Princess Di. My father is adopted but clearly from some European descent. My father, Jamie and I were all gifted, but I’m not sure about anyone else in the family. Maybe smarts had something to do with it. Maybe there was a plan to pass down tradition to me. I’m unsure.
When I was a child, there were rumors my family was mob. I think it was started because of the arrest. That is all the illegal activity we have done though. We are from Sicily, I understand the rumors. Maybe there were some mob like intents or connections, but we decided to be normal and acclimate to the country. We had a basement poker game for a while but now we just go to the casinos or play online. Maybe that is part of why I got the ring. My grandma’s line is the gambling family. My mother desperately wanted me to marry a poker player or a son of one of her friends. She knew they could make a lot of money. Personally I don’t have anything against poker players but I have never been in a casino. I think running the room of a casino would be an awesome job for me. I’m great with angry people. For now, I’m just retail.
Let me be perfectly clear. I didn’t join the military. I’ll probably never be CIA. I definitely won’t apply. I’m not part of any organization. Sometimes however, I feel so Illuminati. Sometimes I write companies suggestions and ideas. Sometimes I post ideas on my blog. Sometimes I give my friends ideas for their work. Maybe not a single thing has come to fruition yet. Erin Condren’s team does politely say thank you a lot. Just putting my ideas out into the universe feels good though. Giving support to my favourite brands no matter how minuscule, empowers me. I don’t know if I will ever make money from my blog but I do plan on continuing my work. Feeling very Gary V, working for free.
I have this dream that I sell my handmade cards in a bar. I think it would be cute to be on thick wooden picture ledge shelves. Underneith my cards 2 packs of a bathbombs with stickers “babe relax” and bundles of chocolates “babe I’m sorry”. I did the bundles for Christmas this year. The baristas could wrap them up on their downtime during the day. Imagine the guys hanging out at the bar and their wife texts “bring me home a babe I’m sorry, you drunk skunk” Okay, maybe I’m making it overly cute. But they could make money off it. Chocolate cases direct from Cadbury, ribbon and cellophane from Michaels (50% off coupon), bath bombs from a local Etsy maker. Small businesses supporting small businesses.
It’s probably a pipe dream but still. Maybe one day.
I have a crazy idea. Blood Brothers meet Marylin Manson. What if Blood Brothers rented out Budwiser Stage or Phoenix Concert Theatre for a night each. They could use it to test out what beer should go in the place. I think cans for concerts personally, especially Budwiser Stage. Glass on the grass, not good. Those nights only serve your beer and see whats most popular and put that one in the venue permanently.
You don’t really need Manson, you could do your own with a local band. It might be nice for him to do a redemption tour though. Team up. Make a big stink about recycling. Get the city to sponsor. Fundraise for MADD. Get taxis or ubers on standby. Sponsors and fundraisers.
All I’m saying is I wanna see Manson in concert for real and it would be cool to get your beer there. Goodluck.
The kids growing out of their stuff is giving me anxiety. We spent a small fortune on all the baby things. Now I am looking at selling some of the stuff and it is making me grieve. It makes me wonder why I invested so much but at the time it felt right. Everything felt necessary. Time went so fast. Little ones are now two and five. The baby years are behind us. I’m reluctant to see them grow. I’m sad that breastfeeding is over. I’m sad that everything is moving forward. I’m sad I will barely have them wrapped up anymore. Waiting for time with them feels so slow. It feels like I am missing everything. Hopefully time will feel real again soon.
If I become SeneGence queen, I’m going to open a boutique for makeup artists to teach girls how to wear their makeup and the SeneBlends techniques. I would also sell all the products, like a Mac or Sephora store.
SeneGence can be sold in boutiques with 1-3 locations only. Although, if you expand more you can always change the name of the boutique. Each queen should open their own little store.
When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. In my university stint I was diagnosed with anticipatory anxiety, social anxiety and PTSD. I got diagnosed with PTSD from childhood trauma. I remember specifically telling them if I eat one bowl of pasta I have to puke. Damn basil. I wonder if my stomach never bothered me if I would still have bulimia at all. At age 28, I got the bipolar diagnosis. I call it the fake bipolar. That hospital refused to acknowledge my PTSD. I’m currently working with a nice psychiatrist trying to prove I’m just PTSD. I’ve been raped. I’ve been humiliated. I’ve been hit. I have trauma. I also worked very closely with the psychiatrist who labelled me PTSD; I trust him more.
My first sexual assault I was eleven years old. I was at a sleepover with my grandma. Her boyfriend at the time took us and his son fishing that weekend. I woke up in the middle of the night with him naked on top of me. He made me do everything except actual sex. He eventually pouted and told me he was going to sleep in bed with his dad and my grandma. He was a few years older than me. I’m sure he thought he would see me again. He didn’t. I didn’t tell a soul for years, but he did.
A year later I was hanging out with a friend of mine from school. She told me not to worry, she had sex with him too. I stared at her horrified. I was worried he raped her. I think they were just dating. After the conversation didn’t go as planned, I was threatened at school. Two older boys wrapped fishing wire around my neck on the playground. They just did it enough to leave a mark that lasted a week. I told the principle who simply said to watch where I’m walking. I said nothing about the assault.
Somehow word got out that I wasn’t a virgin anymore, when I still was. A boy a year younger than me tried to take off my jacket and have sex with me in a stairwell. I resisted, and he got mad. I left. This I did tell the principle. Our mothers came in for a meeting and leaving my mother said the boy was more believable. I remember thinking thank God I didn’t tell her about the first boy.
When I was twenty, I was raped. I had a loser of a boyfriend. He asked if we could do anal and when I said no, he held me down and did it. It was horrible. I hated him. It was over.