I Am My Own Existence, Nothing More (and other existentialist crap)

How important is sense of self?  I think that most people have an awareness, at least subconsciously, of the labels that define them.  Teacher, husband, mother, son, friend- just a few of a million labels that we combine in a unique way and don like haute couture.  Titles woven into my own fabric include intelligent, stay-at-home mother, and wife.  Generally, I've been pleased with my personal ensemble, but last week, life pulled a loose thread and left me hanging bare like some sad, past her prime chick on a Girls Gone Wild video.

It all started because I was bored.  I decided to either get my hair cut, or start graduate school.  Having found no decent stylist in Leesville, I opted to hit the books.  In true Kitt fashion, I chose a school, degree plan, and career path in roughly 12 hours.  I had just over two weeks to submit my application, which was to include a qualifying GRE score.  No problem.  I've never been good at sports or mechanics, but I can rock a standardized test.  I am, after all, intelligent.  As far as I could see, the biggest hurdle was obtaining the proper identification to present the testing center; it had to have a recent picture and have my name listed as Olivia Hall Squyres.  The problem was that my current driver's license still featured my maiden name, despite the fact that I've been married for eight years.  Which leads us to...

The Mansfield DMV.  It is the place to go for all of your vehicular needs.  There is never a wait, and you will always know at least one of the employees.  Usually, this is a minus, but when dealing with a soulless demon institution like the Department of Motor Vehicles, it's always better to have an in.  Anywho, I went to get my new license, and was told I needed an official copy of my marriage license from the courthouse.  Ten minutes later, I was staring at my marriage license in disbelief.  I had signed it, my pastor signed it, my witnesses signed it, that homeless guy down the street signed it, everyone signed it.  Except Daniel.  I took it back to the DMV and asked if I could still have my name changed to Squyres.  "Sure," the lady said, "but you should get that checked out.  I don't think you're really married, and that's a shame 'cause it was a real beautiful weddin."  Oh, and PS about the Mansfield DMV- they have truly excellent lighting.  I look younger in my new picture than I did in the one taken 9 years ago.  That alone was worth the absolution of my marriage.

So who am I?  I'm not a wife, so I'm a girlfriend?  I have to say, I'm bitter.  I was bamboozled into thinking he bought the cow.  Meanwhile, all of his dairy has been supplied gratis.  And I'm no longer a stay-at-home mother, so I'm an unemployed baby mama??  What am I going to do?  I guess I could get a job and provide for myself, but my brother-in-law pointed out that I probably qualify for government assistance now.  This sounds much better to me!  Great- now I'm a Democrat.  And another thing- I've been spending all these years adhering to our monthly budget, but it's quite possible that my current disposable income is less than what Daniel's monthly child support payment would be.  I wants my money, and I wants it now.  I can't believe he didn't sign the marriage license, but he signed both birth certificates.  Sucker!

Back on the market, I figured acing the GRE was even more important.  I have young coeds to charm.  I had plenty of people encouraging me to study, but truthfully, I've never had to study for that type of test in my life.  I mean, I may be a common-law hussy, but I'm no idiot, right?  Long story short... I'm an idiot.  I don't know if that test legitimately kicked my butt, or if my newly acquired persona influenced my testing ability, but trust me when I say Harvard won't be knocking down my door anytime soon.  Truthfully, my score did qualify for my chosen program, but it was nowhere near my personal expectations.  I haven't received my score on the writing portion yet.  If I crap out on that part, I'm shutting Kittastrophe down and taking up bird watching.

Kitt Hall Squyres...  Baby Mama, Live-in Companion, Simpleton, Snarky, Humbled.

Land of the Free, and the Home of the Me

It seems to be the common consensus these days that America isn't the great country it used to be.  Some blame Bush, others blame Obama.  I blame Oprah.  You see, Oprah was the first person to introduce the idea of "Me Time", and the rest of us just took it and ran.  Somewhere along the way, Me Time mated with technology, and Facebook was born.  Then, that bastard Facebook held a caucus with iPhone, and the result was the preeminent profile picture.  You know the one-- self portrait took at a down angle from extended arm, boobs pushed out, squinty eyes, pouty lips.  To be fair, if I had any boobs and/or lips to speak of, I'd probably have this picture too.  Then again, that hasn't stopped scads of pre-pubescent girls (and some dudes) from adopting this signature pose again, and again, and again.  How many pictures does one need of one's self, anyway?  But I digress... My point is that we have become so egocenric, that the state of our union can hardly come as a surprise.  If divided we stand, then united we fall. 

Me Time (MT) is the idea that if we spend any time focused on our jobs or on others, we become entitled, nay, obligated to spend some time on ourselves.  Really?  This nonsense seems to run especially rampant among stay-at-home mothers.  And their MT drug of choice?  The spa.  I must say, I'm kind of surprised all the revenue generated by the hoards of mani-pedi seekers isn't doing a better job of stimulating the economy.  I stay at home with my two children.  Yes, it's busy, but I can hardly call it stressfull, especially considering occupations such as military, police, and Kardashian.  I mean, no job that lets you wear pajamas all day and considers teeth-brushing optional is going to land you in the hospital with ulcers.  My life is hardly all kids, all the time.  Once a week I treat myself to a grocery excursion, and I almost always get 2-3 solo bathroom trips a day.  My grandmother raised fourteen children.  I'd love to be able to go back and ask her opinion of MT, though I suspect she would have been far more interested in the concepts of Food on the Table, and Clothes on Our Backs. 

Generally, I would use this paragraph to explore the various ways men use MT.  However, I have had an exceptionally difficult time finding a man who will admit to taking time for himself.  Key word: ADMIT.  Daniel likes to point out that during his last deployment, he had exactly 16 days off- in a year.  He thinks MT is just something "chicks do", but I contend that no female I am aware of ever uses the bathroom as her own personal library.  Fellas, you're finding pockets of solitude somewhere. 

Don't get me wrong- I'm not saying that people shouldn't take time for themselves.  I'm not saying people don't deserve time for themselves.  Hell, I'm not all together sure where my 10 month old is right now, but I'm still taking the time to bloviate (pot, kettle much?).  I just think there is a time and a place for everything.  I see far too many people focusing on the prize without giving the actual task at hand much thought.  My fellow Americans, we should band together, roll up our sleeves, and rob Oprah.  I think there's about $8 in it for each of us if my math is correct- although it probably isn't since I used my 6 years in college to major in Me Time.