Not an Olympic Swimmer

Glistening blue pools, with icy cold water are very enticing in the summer time. Especially when the temperature tops anywhere above the high 80's--which it has for the last few days. When the sweat is literally pouring down your face and your make-up is melting off, all you wanna do is dive into the nearest crystal blue, chlorine-filled water. To stand at the waters edge, toes just peaking over the sides, arms stretched in front of you in an almost prayer like position and your body is slightly arched towards the water. All you have to do is let go--launch your body forward, jump out and let your head hit the water with your legs to follow.

It's really that easy! One little push off and instant relief washes over your overheated body.

Well, for most people.

Most people being everyone but me.

Yes world, I am one of the few people in the world (not including babies who can't swim yet) who can't dive. Never could and probably never will.

And trust me, it's not for lack of trying. One summer while up the Poconos visiting my aunt, she spent an entire day in the lake teaching my younger sister and I to dive. I watched as my sister easily caught on to my aunt's instructions. My sister stood positioned on a dock as my aunt stretched her arms out across her body and told her to lean over her arms with her arms reaching into the water.

"Now, just lean over farther and let go," she told her. Instantly, my sister did just that. Three more times is all my sister needed after that to get it completely on her own. I, on the other hand, was a lost cause. Almost a half hour later my aunt wanted to call it a day. Needless to say, I was done in the lake for that weekend.

Later that summer while babysitting with my best friend at her aunt's house, she attempted to teach me again in their in-ground pool. This time, my best friend used noodles, the pool net, and she even stood on the diving board with me. Naturally, she dove right in and by the time she popped up out of the water, I was still standing there on the board--legs shaking a bit. Again and again we tried, but it just wouldn't happen and eventually she gave up too.

I just couldn't figure out how to do it. It was completely beyond me.

Let me rephrase the above statement. I know how to dive--I know how to position my body and launch myself forward into the water. I've had enough people try and teach me that I know the exact instructions they will give. But my body physically repels the thought of diving. I physically cannot do it--my psyche will not allow my head to hit the water first, as it should do. Every time I try, I'd launch off the edge of the pool with my arms out and my head down, but my feet would always hit the water first. The top half of my body cooperates but the bottom half fights me every step of the way--it literally looks like I'm just jumping into the pool with my arms in front of me.

It's actually really embarrassing. Especially when I reflect on the years that I swam competitively for my grade school's CYO. My school had a really good team--we had a few swimmers who were actually nationally ranked and Junior Olympics bound.

Naturally my parents signed me and my 3 siblings up for the swim team, but I obviously was hopeless. I would stand up on the the blocks during meets and look completely the part--team bathing suit, swimming cap, TYR goggles, little trim body--but the second that whistle blew, I was found out. I looked like the biggest ass during those meets and I can't blame the coaches for not putting me in as many races as they could. I will say this, I am/was a pretty mean backstroker. But again, you don't have to dive to be a good backstroker.

There's something about my head hitting the water first that literally scares me to death. Like I'm afraid of not pulling up in time and hitting my head on the bottom of the pool. Drowning, really, I think is the worst way to die. And psychologically, I think that's what stops my body. And I'm pretty sure I know where that fear comes from.

Like most Philadelphians, our summers are spent at the Jersey Shore. All of my summer memories involve the shore in some capacity. But my earliest shore memory is one from when I was 5. That summer, we stayed in a motel in Cape May for a few days that had an in-ground pool. We were definitely beach people, but on one particular day my parents (including my older sister and my 3 year old sister) decided to hang back and  let us swim in the motel pool. And I loved the pool even though I couldn't swim yet. I loved jumping in and splashing around. But I also hated it because in order for me to go into the pool, I had to put on a swimmie. Now the ones we had in the 80's were a lot different than the ones they have now.

Yeah, I wish I had these.

The one I had to wear basically had a bathing suit/wet suit top that went over your head and then a round raft went around your waist. It was awful--so awful that I can't even find a picture of one! You had to be wet to get into it, and most of the time you had to force in down over your head. Then when you wanted to take it off, it clung to your body like an extra skin. It was the biggest pain in the ass. I actually starting swimming  in baby pools just so I didn't have to put it on.

On this particular day, I had had enough with the swimmie. I had been swimming for about an hour, under the watchful eye of my parents who were sitting in beach chairs on the pools edge and I felt smothered by the swimmie. I got out at one point and took it off --I liked going under water and the swimmie didn't exactly allow that. So I stripped it off and crept back into the pool.

"Penny you stay near the steps," my mom called.

"I'm fineeeee! I'm just going in a bit further," I told her, being a complete rebel even at 5 years old. So I stepped down from the steps and felt the freedom of walking into a pool without my swimmie. With my feet firmly planted on the pool bottom, I slid further and further into the pool. I felt invincible. My feet inched along the pool bottom and I kept pushing forward, little by little, all the while waiting for my mom to yell at me. Then it happened.

The pool bottom dropped an inch and I went under. The water swirled above my head as I was completely submerged. I could feel the air being sucked out of my lungs, but I didn't struggle or fight. I remember opening my eyes--for the first time under water--and looking up. Light was reflecting into the pool and it shown right to the bottom. It flicked and danced all around me. It really felt magical and the world was quiet. I wasn't scared, from what I remember but could feel my chest heave under the pressure. I'm not sure how long I was under before I felt my body grabbed and then lifted out of the water. I gasped and coughed for breath, as my dad carried me to my mom's waiting arms. I burst into tears while she held me, and watched as my dad took off his soaked shoes, drenched wallet, and ruined money that was still in his pockets when he urgently jumped into the pool to save me.

Needless to say, I never swam without my swimmie again. And my mom immediately enrolled me in swimming lessons at our local Swim Club. But, after that one experience I was hesitant about the water and swimming. The swimming lessons were horrific because they were according to age--where I needed to be actually swimming at that point and not wading in the pool. I screamed my head off the first time they tried to make me go down the slide into the 5 foot pool. After a day of that, my mom pulled me out of the 5 and up age group and I was put with the 5 and under--back in the baby pool. I don't think I officially learned to swim until I was 8 or 9.

So I guess you can see that I have a love, hate relationship with the pool and its pretty deep seeded. Diving into a pool is just not in the cards for me and I'm okay with that. Yes, it's embarrassing as hell but also kind of funny to explain and demonstrate to people. But, there's just some things in life a person is not meant to do.  

Guess I'll never go to the Olympics for swimming. But I'll live.
Not everyone needs a gold medal to survive.

Couch Potato

As new a member of the unemployment line, I have been trying to stay very active as a means of not going completely crazy and get my life on track. I get up everyday at 6am, eat a well balanced breakfast of fruit and various grain. I then proceed to run 6 times around my development, which comes out to about 3 miles. After my run, I do 30 minutes of strength and core training to build up my abs. Usually it's about 11 o'clock by the time I'm all through. After that I run any errands and go on the slew of interviews that I have lined up for the employers who are dying to hire me. I read a book a day and also write until my fingers hurt. Every day, I make my family a 3-course gourmet dinner, clean the entire house and oh yeah.....find the cure for cancer. Very, Very productive days.

Yeah, right.

Obviously, the entire paragraph above is bullshit.

Here's the real deal: I sleep as late as I want (which I haven't been able to do in years, so that in itself is great), I wake up and move my sorry ass to the couch and channel surf for the majority of the afternoon, I think about getting up an exercising and sometimes I even attempt it ( I borrowed the Jillian Michaels DVDs from my best friend and have actually gotten about ten minutes in and given up. She is a nasty, nasty bitch), I spend a lot of time on the internet searching for new jobs and opportunities, I try to write but get so frustrated with the crap coming out of my brain that I give up and revert back to the television, I wait until my friends are home from work and either try to coax them into hanging out or beg them to, I read (so that's not bullshit), and I wait to go to bed.

The end.

Pretty pathetic, I know. But I'm still getting used to this whole unemployment thing--I'm honestly not used to having a hectic and full schedule. I've been running on all four cylinders for years now, and not having to do that is very weird to me. I feel like I'm in a constant weekend frame of mind and my psyche is all messed up from it. Like I'm in this never ending vacation in my head and I don't need to do anything but relax and be lazy. But in reality, that's not the case. I need to be doing more. I know I need to get myself onto a set schedule and start doing something constructive with my days because I don't want to be a sloth. Or a "hermit" as my mom calls it.

I'll get there, I promise. I just need to get my head on straight first.

So that's my rant for the night, now onto the point of this post!

I have obviously been watching an obscene amount of TV out of pure boredom. And as I've heard my Dad say repeatedly while flipping through channels, "500 channels and not a damn thing on." Yes, Daddy you would be correct. TV programming has seriously gone into the crapper over that last few years. Instead of supporting quality shows and writing, networks are pumping cash into shit programming--case in point the Kardashians. I heard a few weeks ago that this talent-less family got $40 million to continue taping with their NBC affiliate. $40 million for a show that was launched based off of a sex-tape scandal? If nothing, the Kardashian's were geniuses to cash in while the fire was hot.

That being said, I have become OBSESSED with the following reality shows. To the point that I feel like I go into a daze when there's a string of episodes on at once, and I only realize hours have gone by once a different show comes on.

Mountain Men

 This little gem was introduced to me by my youngest sister and Dad--one night they were talking like the Mountain Men for hours and I won't lie, their drawls and grunts made me very intrigued. On the History Channel, the program follows the lives of 3 men who live solely off their land in Alaska, Montana and South Carolina. These men literally live for trapping and living in the woods (as foreign as that may be). Seriously, it's addicting. Made me want to pack my stuff and move to Alaska. Well not really--I'd much rather watch from the comfort of my comfy bed, then have to worry about skinning beavers for meat or deal with frigid winter weather--the one guy Martin in this show had to walk 10 miles to his cabin because his snow mobile broke down. Yeah, it was -10* outside. No way!

Animal Cops Houston

This show is literally my crack. Not even kidding you. Animal Planet is a constant on my TV just because I love the animals. But this show takes it to a whole new level. It's all about the Houston SPCA and the above pictured badasses cracking down on animal cruelty. At times it is really sad--especially when animals are rescued from awful living conditions or need to be euthanized because they are in such horrible shape--but it always ends on a good note with the animals finding loving homes. It has made me want to drive down to Houston and adopt a horse. Not even kidding.

Deadliest Catch

No, I am not late to this party. I've been watching this show for years but I've recently become more obsessed. If you are living under a rock, this show follows the crab-fishers (is there another name for them?) of Alaska, who go out into the farthest parts of the ocean to fish for king-crab and opis (again, is that how you say it?). But this is no joke--you fall into the Arctic Ocean and you are dead. The show amazes me just because of the brute strength of these guys--they work like 20 hour days for days on end and at the end of their 3 week stretch, each crew-member usually walks away with $20,000.00. Like holy crap! If I didn't get horribly sea-sick, I'd sign up in a second. Hey.....maybe that's my life calling.....

Kinda funny that my favorite shows these days mostly revolve around real burly men. Is someone trying to tell me something?

Anyway, check these shows out. Trust me, they're awesome! And will totally fill your reality TV fix, without having to admit that you actually watch the Kardashians.

Wrong Turn

 Here's a piece of Flash Fiction I wrote for a class back in college. The assignment was to complete a 150 word piece of fiction, but each student was given a title and a first line (that another individual in the class wrote). Then another peer was to read and critique it blindly (our names were not printed on the assignment), then present to the class. When my classmate stood up and read my piece, my stomach turned. But then the entire class broke out if uncontrollable laughter. Which only became louder once I announced it was mine.

I guess that's a good thing? Haha

Enjoy!

It’s funny how death seemed to stand still, as Sam was about to come crashing into it. The tires screeched and debris flew in through the window, as Sam’s SUV tumbled down a hill into a ravine. He thought little of how he had gotten there—swerving from a deer that would assuredly adorn a hunter’s mantle in a month. His life didn’t flash before his eyes—as most people say when they have near death experiences. Rather, he had one blinding thought:

Women’s underwear.

Because that is what he was wearing beneath his Levi jeans. He saw the coroner removing the tattered jeans from his broken body, carefully cutting the pant legs up the middle, only to find a man wearing women’s underwear. 

A thong actually. With big pink hearts.

Then, he imagined that same coroner handing over the personal items left from the crash to his aggrieved and tear stricken family. Holding up the underwear he asks, with a sly smile and mocking tone;

“Should we burn these?”

So, as the car finally hit the bottom of the ravine, Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

And pray that his car would explode.

Not Looking Back....

I took my dad's advice and have taken a few days to "decompress and calm down."

No more crying, no more panic attacks, no more curse words or frantic outbursts. No more trying to make sense of it all, while accomplishing nothing. I am as calm and panic free as I can be--and trust me that isn't a lot. I have accepted what happened and feel at peace with it now, knowing it is for the best and I am a better person for it. But part of this acceptance is also letting it all out and not hiding behind it anymore. I am no longer ashamed.

So here goes.

On Wednesday, I was fired.

At approximately 2:30 pm, I was called down to the Business Manager's office--the same office where I accepted the offer of employment--and handed a sheet a paper. I was then told that my employment with their company was immediately terminated due to my "skill set not being appropriate for the position." While being asked if I needed a box to collect my things, I happened to look at my official "You're fired, get the hell out," letter and noticed that they spelled my name wrong. Pretty funny when you consider I worked as an Editor.

I walked back to my desk in a zombie-like state, where my "lovely" co-workers happened to have conveniently disappeared from and grabbed my stuff.  I said goodbye to no one--after the hell they had put me thru over the last 3 months, they didn't deserve a single thing from me. I am proud to say that I kept my shit together until I got to my car--I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. But the minute my car door slammed, I lost it. And how the heck my dad understood what I said between sobs, I have no clue. All I heard from his side was, "Those sons-of-bitches! Come home, okay? Calm down and come home."

Calming down was not an option at the moment, but somehow I was able to make the treacherous drive home on the New Jersey turnpike. And of course, my entire family had gotten the news and swarmed to my house. All had their own advice and assurances, but honestly I didn't hear any of it. My mind was swarming with student loans, car payments, insurance bills, and the biggest sense of failure I had of date. The last was the worst bit--I left a job where I had security and made a big to do about it, and now was fired just shy of 3 months. And as I filled out the unemployment application my sister had pulled up on the internet, I felt the gravity of the situation even more.

I was now a stereotype.

After that, I needed to get out of the house. I retreated to my best friends house where she had a large cocktail waiting for me. I pretty much spent the next three days with her and her family, which was probably the best thing I did. Because they kept me laughing and not welling up in dread and anxiety. Eventually, my other friends found out and I had a large outpouring of support and understanding from them and most of my family.

But I was still pretty ashamed of the entire situation.  I hated having to explain to people what happened, why I was fired and what they said to me. I have always been proud of the fact that I have never been fired from a job, even part time jobs in high school. But reviewing the entire situation  over and over made me realize one thing about my 3 month employment stint--I was a scapegoat. My co-workers had an issue with me from the minute I walked into that office. If it was my age or qualifications, I'm not too sure but they were hateful, spiteful people towards me from the get-go. They never gave me a chance to prove myself, but were quick to run to my boss every time I made a mistake. At times, I felt like I was in Nazi-occupied Poland because everything I did was watched and reported back to my superior. One woman in particular--a self-proclaimed "Church Lady"--liked to keep running tabs on me. If I stopped working for even an instant, she was breathing down my neck and running to my boss with accusations and lies--and I know about this because my boss called me down to her office several times and told me. Really, I should've seen it coming, especially when they made a huge deal about hiring someone as an editor the week before. All this to say, I was fired to make room for this woman. And in retrospect, they hired me to fill a space temporarily--again, I know this because my boss was constantly pressured by the business side to hire more people, which she refused to do. I was hired to shut them up, and then fired when someone better came along.

My "skill set" had absolutely nothing to do with it. But it did have everything to do with caddy, high school bull shit.

But even after this introspective look at the situation, my biggest enemy was  still my ego and pride--most asked right away if I could go back to my other job or take a waitress job to compensate the unemployment. Both of which I completely shot down. "I'd rather chop off each of my fingers one at a time," I told them. I refuse to take a step back.

So where do I go from here?

Back to sending out resumes and applications
My unemployment has been accepted and will kick in in about a week
Of my two student loan carriers, only one (naturally the lesser payment) is willing to defer my payments until I secure employment--stress number 1 at the moment
My parents are in constant vigil over me, trying to keep me busy
My room has never been cleaner
I am grossly aware of my bank account and what I spend
I am happier

Most of my friends think I should take the summer off and just enjoy myself--a summer vacation of sorts. Which I will admit I am half tempted to do. But I think I will try and focus on writing and getting a publisher for my novel and go from there. I do have an interview Thursday for an editing job with a firm I had interviewed 3 times for back in December. They were actually thrilled to hear from me, so I guess that's a good thing.

I'm not sure what happens next for me. But I do know this situation hasn't beat me. More importantly, those bitches haven't beat me.