A Christmas Tag

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A Christmas Tag

The Huntress 915 tagged me so now you all must suffer the consequences. I’m a Christmas tag virgin so apologies if I botch this. Thank you Huntress for the selecting me. If you guys aren’t following her blog yet you should, she has interesting tales to tell. OK here’s the business:

 

The Rules

You must thank the person who nominated you.

Link back to the original post (the one on this blog) and use the graphic provided.

Answer the questions given.

Nominate at least 3 people. (or more if your feeling like a nice person)

Give the nominees 10 questions to answer (or use the ones previously given)

Questions

Do you celebrate Christmas? Yes

Which one of Santa’s Reindeer is your favorite? Blitzen, cool name.

Do you like snow? Meh, I like the first snowfall each season then my fondness decreases as winter drags on.

Do you have a favorite Christmas tradition? I make 7 fishes for my family on Christmas Eve. I married into an Italian family and I have become very attached to this tradition.

Least favorite part of Christmas? The stress of getting everything done.

What is your favorite Christmas memory? Not one memory stands out but it sure is fun to be around little people when they get excited about Christmas.

If you could take a paid two-week break for Christmas this year, what would you do, and why? I would love to spend a Christmas in London.

Elf on the Shelf – Yay, Never or thank Gawd that is over? Thank Gawd that’s over although we did have some laughs with Dash.

Favorite thing about Christmas when you were a kid? The anticipation and listening to Elvis sing Blue Christmas – my uncle had that albumn on a continuous loop.

Do you have a favorite Christmas special? I’m partial to the Miser brothers in A Year Without A Santa Clause.

 My Nominees are….

Free Thinkers Anonymous

Redneck Latte

The Bag Lady

 

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I Blame My White Hetero Nondenominational Privilege for this Rant

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I Blame My White Hetero Nondenominational Privilege for this Rant

‘Tis the season for getting offended. It seems like this snowballs each year and now we have an avalanche of nostalgia to get pissed off at. Maybe I’m just cranky because of the Shingles (don’t ask) but can we collectively dial it back a notch? My family life sucked as a kid so I’d like to cling to a few happy childhood memories that aren’t tainted by rapey winter songs, hetero normative propaganda and straight up bullying. Can we all just calm the f*ck down already (someone is reading this right now blaming my white hetero nondenominational privilege for this rant).

Happy Holidays is not code for f*ck off you Jesus loving freak. It means have a nice holiday whatever you celebrate or I’m not sure what day it is in December so I’m just going to cover my ass and say happy holidays. Happy New Year is the cousin of Happy Holidays, this is used when someone is afraid to say “Happy Holidays” because they don’t want to take an organic peppermint shank in the kidney while waiting in line at Whole Foods. Whole Foods is where the really progressive people go to over pay for groceries and hold meetings about the next thing to get offended about. They used to have meetings at Starbucks but those @ssholes ruined themselves when a SB in Philadelphia kicked a black dude out for being well, black.

Baby it’s Cold Outside is now a rape anthem. This song was on a slippery slope the last few years with the #MeToo movement pushing it right off the hetero normative cliff. Men, if you hint at liking this song, you might be a rapist. If you are a female who likes this song, feminists don’t know what to do with you. Personally my favorite version of this song is by the Holderness Family, Baby Just GO Outside.

 

 

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is chock full of f*cked up messaging. Can we agree that Rudolph’s parents were horrible? Because really, who makes their kid wear a strictly cosmetic nose prosthetic which compromises one’s ability to speak clearly and breath properly. Whenever I feel like a bad parent I just sigh and think well, at least I didn’t pull a Donner.And let’s be honest, Santa is kind of a jerk in that show. He shuns Rudolph until he finds a use for him then he’s all like “Hey Rudolph, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?!” If I rewrote this it would have a different ending.

Santa: (Head hung in shame, struggling to make eye contact, shoulders slumped) Hey Rudolph, I’ve done some soul searching and I realize I was wrong for shunning you over your nose.

Rudolph: (Standing on hind legs, arms crossed with a some serious side eye pointed at Santa): Um, hmmm.

Santa: (starts to sway nervously from side to side) You know the weather forecast is looking pretty grim for Christmas Eve…you know, that nose of yours could help cut through the fog. Would you like to be the lead reindeer?

Rudolph: (Still standing on hind legs, one leg gets placed on his hip with a definite “Oh no you didn’t” air about him) So let me get this straight fat man…you bench my red-nose-brown-ass, keep me off the team, talk sh*t to my parents about me and now you want me to save your ass. Ain’t that just like an old privileged white dude. Oh hell no.

Santa: (begging) Please Rudolph, we can’t have Christmas without you!

Rudolph: (Gets down on all fours and turns to walk away) You should have thought of that before you racist bastard. Stick a flashlight on Comet’s nose and figure it out. I got plans that night – me, Yukon and Hermey are starting a band we have a gig on Misfit Island, those are my people. I’m outa here.

 

 

 

Merry Whatever

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Merry Whatever

Here is my holiday rant in no particular order of importance. I started this list around Thanksgiving and it’s building momentum:

1. Turkey Log, Day 5 – For the love of Gawd make it stop. The delicious novelty of mashed potatoes in turkey soup wore off two days ago, even gravy can’t save us now.

2. Keep thinking of the people I didn’t see on Thanksgiving because they died (no punchline just the sad truth).

3. My teenage kids fought over how to decorate the Christmas tree. One kid wanted Trump-esque borders, the other kid wanted free-range decorations…I wanted to scream into a pillow in a dark room by myself. The husband busied himself in a different room (that man is a damn genius).

4. Took a day trip to NYC and one kid didn’t want to go so we let her stay home alone for 6 hours. She binge watched tv, face-timed her friends, ate Nutella on the couch and did zero chores. Slacker level: Master – Jealousy level: Master

5. Saturday I stayed in PJs all day long, as in the entire day. This isn’t a rant, it’s a confession. Apple-Tree (see above).

6. I am sick of the political pontificating in America. The mindset of – if you don’t agree with me, you are an ignorant racist person drowning in your own white privilege. The flip side is pro-life all the way but let’s use tear gas to keep brown moms and their kids out of ‘Murica. Any attempt at a rational conversation with extremists is exhausting and I am so f*cking tired.

7. Avoided political talk at Thanksgiving until the subject of the environment came up. No minds were changed, shocking.

8. Have to see all the same people again on Christmas Eve. Perhaps I’ll play “Baby It’s Cold Outside” on a continuous loop until everyone’s brain explodes onto the dinning room table. That’ll liven up the 7 fishes.

9. Went to three parties this weekend. There are 52 weekends each year – we get invited to about 7 parties in the entire year, half of them occur on the same weekend….why???!

10. I feel guilty for shopping on Amazon so much. The alternative is to go out to physical stores where people are…actual people (cue the horror music). I still go to independent bookstores to buy books. There aren’t many lines there because most people don’t read anymore.

11. My kid sucks the candy cane down into a sharp point and I visualize it being used as some kind of Christmas shank. (See item 3)

12. I want to do a reboot of Home Alone where I get to play the part of Kevin McCallister. I don’t mean making an actual movie…I just want to be home alone for a few hours, maybe a day…..two weeks, tops.

13. Went to a party last weekend with my husband’s childhood friends. Three hours in they started to drunk order stuff from Amazon on the host’s Alexa. I can’t wait to see how Charlie accessorizes his new sequin dress.

14. I attempted to make Christmas cookies to bring to a friend’s house. I made the rookie mistake of putting the cookies in plastic containers before they cooled properly. My daughter (AKA: Peppermint Shank) made a valiant effort at trying to pry the clumps apart alas, it was not to be. So I tossed the chunks of cookie into a bowl of melted chocolate and then sprinkled the crushed candy cane bits on top of the mess because this chick doesn’t throw out butter and cocoa just for being ugly.

Merry Whatever.

 

 

 

 

That’s Not Appropriate

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That’s Not Appropriate

Recently the hubs and I went to a holiday party. A majority of the party was a group of friends known as the car guys and their wives. The car guys met through their love of cars and somehow, despite this seemingly shallow connection, have created meaningful friendships.

For a handful of years we have socialized  – parties, annual beach getaways, vacations and weddings. It’s an interesting group of friends (the book writes itself). This party is one of the group traditions. There is always an “adult” gift exchange, some naughty variation of the white elephant. I always aim for funny with potential for mildly offensive, it’s my comfort zone. I brought a “People of Walmart” desk calendar, who wouldn’t love that! I also brought a book with stickers for adulting.

The sticker book is a bit of a rub because I was actively brainstorming this idea a few years ago. I got sick of sewing (OK my father in-law sewed) badges on my daughter’s brownie sash. Throughout the process (basically, when I had to safety pin badges on 3 minutes before an event, because, that’s what I do) I would think, damn there should be adulting badges. But badges are such @ssholes with their need to be sewn on, they’re a bit of a commitment. Badges are the tattoo of the sewing world. No, I thought to myself, stickers would be better – cheaper, less hassle. Wouldn’t you know, someone else thought it was a good idea and bippity, boppity, boop – –

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Available here – Adulted Sticker Book

So back to the party. The hubs and I brought two gifts – the People of Walmart desk calendar and the adult sticker book. Oh and the party had a plaid theme. Most of the guys looked like lumberjack wannabes wearing some variation of red & black checkered shirts. The ladies hit Victoria’s Secret hard and got the same pattern in sexy PJs. I wore normal clothes with a plaid scarf because I’m a chicken sh*t. I tried to find something plaid, I really did. I ordered a plaid skirt from Amazon and honestly, when I looked at it, I heard the sound of bagpipes in my mind, I couldn’t pull it off.

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Sketch by Lisa McMillen http://www.cicalisadesigns.com/

The sad part is I didn’t even win the “Least Festive” category (oh yes there are contests too). Some b*tch in a pink sweater dress won. I can’t even win at losing. Hey wait, I think that means I did win at losing. Screw you pink dress lady, I’m a bigger loser than you. I feel better now.

Back to the gift exchange. It was some variation of a white elephant except there was a board and you had to pull instructions from it…for example, find a brunette and exchange gifts. This was confusing to me because I have highlights, am I blonde or brunette? I don’t freaking’ know anymore, the bleach has gotten to me. So I went up to some lady who looked like Velma Dinkley (she may have been wearing a pink sweater dress, the details are fuzzy, like that damn dress) and exchanged gifts. Did I mention that I did this out of turn and it was completely inappropriate? Oh and I’m the sober one at these events which makes it all the more laughable.

I slithered back into the kitchen after that awkward moment and Shelly (wife of a car guy) says “keep that bag, don’t let them get it.” So I basically hid in the kitchen area with a few of the guests, protecting my gift like a momma bear with her cub.

At the end of the exchange we all opened our gifts. Shelly gifted us with “marital aids” which would have been the highlight gift of the evening if this didn’t show up. It was a really cute bottle holder, dressed like Santa. It looked innocent enough, sigh.

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Crocheted Santa Bottle Holder…what could possibly go wrong?

Oh My!!! Inside was something I had never seen before, I didn’t know products like this existed. I’m not a prude. I’ve had a Brazilian Wax or two in my day but (butt) really…I don’t even want to go to the trouble of whitening my teeth.

 

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The End.

 

 

I Workout

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I Workout

Whenever I say “I workout” I think of that song by LMFAO – “I’m Sexy and I Know It,” the video plays in my head and whomever I’m talking to is left wondering why I’m laughing. I’ve been exercising on a regular basis for over 30 years. Yes, I know I should be in better shape, thanks for pointing that out (b*tch). It’s a stress reliever for me and it’s cheaper than therapy. We moved to the area 15 years ago and in that time I’ve belonged to a handful of gyms. I’ve been going to my current gym for at least 5 years and I see the same 15 people on a weekly basis. Sadly I have memorized maybe 3 of their names. I recently got called out for this.

I see this woman with blonde hair at the gym at least twice a week. We’ve had several conversations about social activities and work. Here’s what I know – she turned 50 last year and did a hiking trip with a good friend to commemorate the milestone. She injured her left knee while training for it. She works for a company that helps seniors downsize, she’s divorced, never had kids, used to manage a bagel shop and recently adopted a dog ( the dog is a bit of an asshole). So basically I know everything about her shy of her social security number and her name which she has likely told me a minimum of 5 times.

She suggested that we exchange phone numbers for potential business referrals. I asked her to spell her last name (in the hopes that she would say her entire name) and she called me out for not knowing her name. I hesitated a second to see if her name would magically appear in mid air so I could save myself the embarrassment but no such luck. I admitted that I did indeed forget her name and I’m pretty sure I won’t forget it again. Sorry Katie (or is it Kathy? Kimberly? OHFFS, I suck.)!

There’s one guy who is particularly enthusiastic about kickboxing.  He’s tall with noticeably long limbs that are constantly flailed about during the class. Sometimes his timing is off and he goes left when everyone else goes right. Not a big deal unless you get punched in the face because pterodactyl man is going the wrong way.

A tall brunette is late to every class. I don’t care about that people are busy, she probably has to get kids on the bus. My issue is real estate. She’s one of those people who doesn’t have a good grasp on the importance of personal space. When she comes in late, she typically squeezes into a space that doesn’t exist when there are other more logical places to set up. That space is usually next to me, the most uncoordinated person in step class. I predict a collision at some point mostly due to my lack of coordination and an inability to follow directions.  Perhaps an “accident” will finally get her to migrate to the other side of the room.

 

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One of instructors reminds me of Jack McFarland from Will & Grace. He screams things like – “Get those knees up!” “Keep them up! Higher! Get higher!” while enthusiastically running in peacock inspired leggings with a matching headband. He’s always dressed better than me and he makes me smile.

Another instructor is a retired marine. He’s big into push ups and planks and he shouts the same corny sayings at us every week. “Keep it tight, keep it right.” “It’s mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” And this diddy….“It’s all about the core – that’s what we’re here for.” He chuckles whenever he spouts of his rhyming bits of wisdom.

At some point in the marine’s class I have the urge to vomit and/or cry. I usually only cry on the inside. Sometimes he sets up different exercise stations – jump rope, push ups, planks, bicep curls, balance challenges, whatever sadistic task the instructor designs. We rotate to each station throughout the course of the class. My favorite is the “napping” station. It’s supposed to be the pull up station but I can’t do more than 3. That gives me 50 seconds to snooze before I move on to the next round of torture. I usually whisper “f*ck” with each exhale like an exhausted mantra.

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The napping station.

Consistent exercise has been great for reducing stress and allowing me to eat Oreos without getting too fat (medium fat, perhaps). All this working out has some drawbacks, I have a legit pain in my ass. Somehow I injured my coccyx. No I haven’t grown a man part, that’s my tailbone you filthy animal. It’s been hurting since May, I blame it on Pilates. That was the only thing new about my exercise regime.

There was a lady in the class who was at least 20 years older than me and she has the flexibility of double-jointed ballerina. I was the clumsy one who couldn’t roll my feet over my head in a smooth, controlled motion. My moves were more Frankenstein and less Cirque du Soleil. C’est la vie! I kind of sucked at Pilates so quitting that wasn’t a huge sacrifice. I stopped going, thinking the problem would alleviate, it didn’t.

I’m not incredibly observant when it comes to my own aches and pains. I prefer the ignore-it-and-maybe-it-will-go-away approach. I couldn’t ignore the pain which was my constant companion when we went to see Jim Jeffries in May. That’s how I know approximately when this whole mess started.

The show was great but I was in considerable pain, sitting is my current Kryptonite. I found that out about 15 minutes into the two hour show. I kept switching seated positions, like an overactive toddler that has to pee all the time. The roll over to one cheek method helped, but it made it look like I had to pass gas all night.  Not the vibe I wanted to achieve while out with a group of my husband’s friends and their wives.

Still, I’m not one to run to the doctor. I did my research online. Bryce Warden, MD (Medically Deficient).  I scoured the internet to find out what was wrong with me. Webmd suggested a bruised or fractured coccyx, it sounded right. In July, I finally hauled my aching ass to the doctor and she ordered an x-ray.

Feeling very adult for going to the doctor, I sat in the parking lot of the doctor’s office reviewing the paperwork. Fun fact, x-rays of the sacrum/coccyx area require an enema prior to the x-ray. Good times. Having never had an enema before I had to research to get some pro tips from those who have “gone” before me. My husband and I had a brief conversation about this.

Me: “I need to have an enema before the x-ray.”

Hubs: “I’m not giving it to you.”

Me: “Damn right, you’re not.”

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Sketch by Lisa McMillen – http://www.cicalisadesigns.com/

And we have preserved our sex lives a little longer, perhaps until one of us winds up in Depends. I got the gist of what needed to be done and took matters into my own hands (ass). Got the x-ray and no fracture was detected. That was in July, surely this thing will improve, I hear it “takes time.” Pro tip: if someone tells you that something “takes time,” buckle up you’re in for a bumpy ride and that person likely has no flippin’ idea of how much time it actually takes.

At the end of October, I’m back at the doctor because this thing isn’t letting up. I’ve tried ice/heat, I sit for maybe five minutes at a time unless I’m driving. In the car I have one of those sexy donut pillows. The pain just won’t let up and I went to physical therapy.  The place I went to had a bunch of tables, and random gym equipment – treadmills, exercise balls, etc. The median age was 83.

The staff brought the median age down to 83 as most of the therapists looked to be about 12. That’s a sign you’re getting older when people in their twenties look like middle schoolers, sigh. Anyhow, I filled out 47 forms, was reminded of how sh*tty my insurance is and realized this will be an out-of-pocket expense.

I’m was committed to try it at this point and met my Physical Therapist named Chris.  Chris is a good-looking guy, maybe 23 years old. We go into a room to discuss my “problem.” Let me just explain something….this may sound sexist, I don’t care. Midlife men tend to see younger attractive females as bait or a conquest. I know some midlife women act similarly with younger guys hence, the term cougar. I am not a cougar, an alley cat or any kind of wanna be predator. I saw Chris and thought, I wonder if my son will look like this guy in 10 years. That’s right, so in my mind this guy could be my son in 10 years.

Chris takes my history with copious notes. He then proceeds to examine me which includes extensive handling of my ass. There is really no other way to describe it. It wasn’t sexual he was just doing his job. But dear Gawd it was awkward. I’m doing exercises, hoping to not pass gas while this guy is kneading my backside. Then at the end of the session, I am placed belly side down on a table in a common room. Electrodes are placed directly on my butt cheeks and the current is cranked up to whatever level I could handle. Then, an ice blanket is placed on the offending area.

As I’m lying there, freezing my ass off while simultaneously being shocked, I thought is this some awful middle-aged hazing ritual? Did AARP set this whole thing up? Is there a hidden camera somewhere?

…and my ass still hurts.

 

The Huntress 915

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The Huntress 915

A quick post to show some love to another new blog that I’m following. This chronicles the romantic relationships of the author. I don’t want to give too much away but it’s quite a tale of love, lust, betrayal and staying in a relationship WAY past it’s natural expiration date. She writes with such raw emotion that you will get pulled in – I am so rooting for this woman!  The featured photo is from her blog –   The Huntress 915

 

Santa Should Be On The Naughty List

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This is a fun look at the big man in red. Thank you D. Parker for this gem!

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https://yadadarcyyada.com/2018/12/03/santa-should-be-on-the-naughty-list/

I don’t want a lot for Christmas. There’s just one thing I need. Don’t care about the presents, shopping, or a Christmas tree – could we unblur the lines between good and bad? Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is less celebration of Black Hats (or Red Hats with Fur Trim), more celebration of White Hats (and cookies, definitely cookies).

https://yadadarcyyada.com/2018/12/03/santa-should-be-on-the-naughty-list/We cheer for serial killers, drug lords, mobsters; glamorize celebrities and corporate fat cats – I hear they can even become President.

https://yadadarcyyada.com/2018/12/03/santa-should-be-on-the-naughty-list/We’re allegedly repulsed by the violence, greed, self-absorption yet…we’re mesmerized.

https://yadadarcyyada.com/2018/12/03/santa-should-be-on-the-naughty-list/

  • Look at Santa. Or should I say: Santa Claus, Pere Noel, Father Christmas, SinterKlaas, St. Nicholas, Dun Che Lao Ren, Kris Kringle?Secret Santa indeed…he needs many aliases, with all the break and enters; sure, he leaves gifts but also a lingering sense of unease.

https://yadadarcyyada.com/2018/12/03/santa-should-be-on-the-naughty-list/

  • Some poor child still sings…

View original post 360 more words

Fear

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Fear

My brain is a swirling mass of bad ideas, thoughts that want to tell me the worst. Imagined bad scenarios pile up like cars on an untreated highway during a rush hour ice storm in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s an unexpected, unanticipated disaster threatening and menacing, I could be taken out at anytime by what I don’t see in the blind spots, navigation is treacherous. No actual cars, just the thoughts in my head that I struggle to not breath life into. I keep them locked up in the darkest recesses of my mind where they ricochet like a vintage game of Pong on meth or speed or whatever causes the most damage and chaos.

What happened? Nothing much, it doesn’t take much. My husband could go out for a walk or to meet a friend for coffee and sometimes my damaged mind assumes diabolical situations – mostly that he is cheating on me or dead in a ditch, perhaps mangled in a car crash. Sometimes I think it’s a girlfriend or a hooker, other times I go full blown psycho and imagine the “other family” like a plot from Brothers & Sisters where I play Sally Field’s character. I try to distract myself from my own wicked thoughts and it’s exhausting. Like the duck which appears calm on the surface of the water but if you go underneath you see the frantic kicking of the webbed feet. I’m the duck cooking dinner and answering homework questions while my mind is imagining horrendous scenarios.

I talk myself off of my woman made mental ledge by giving myself an internal pep talk. He loves me I tell myself, knowing that isn’t enough. I mean plenty of guys that love their wives cheat or die in a car crash, statistical fact. I go deeper into my analysis – what time of the month is it? Last menstrual cycle was 22 days ago – interesting, the math works. Didn’t sleep more than 3 hours, got maybe 4 hours the night before last. What did I eat today? Have I exercised? I do much better when I sleep enough, eat well and get in a work out. Has anything different happened to make me feel vulnerable – why yes two family deaths in the span of six months, some collateral drama.

Much like the pilot of an airplane, I have a pre-flight checklist. If any of these items apply I note them and the demons of my mind step back a bit. It has taken years of self introspection and observation to acknowledge these pitfalls. Inevitably though it always comes back to fear of abandonment.

The scars of a dysfunctional upbringing are the echos that haunt me. In the arrogance of youth when I had more energy, was physically more attractive and had complete financial independence, I had the naivete to think the ghosts of my childhood wouldn’t haunt me. I remember my own mother telling me that there was a certain level of her own damage that she had come to accept as insurmountable. Late twenties me thought what a bunch of bullshit that was and how if you had awareness then surely you had the ability to make some changes.

The decades since have softened my views on this…certainly as individuals we have some control over our outlook on life. I have also come to view these deeper flaws in a way that I view grief. You cannot jump high enough or dig deep enough to get around it, you must go through it. You need to absorb your personal truths and recognize them when they float to the surface. By all means fight the demonic bastards with everything you’ve got, just recognize that they will continue to be unwelcome and hopefully infrequent visitors.

So as much as I hate to admit it, mom was right. Some of my fuckedupness is just a part of me and I need to make peace with it. Not panic when the – damn is he cheating on me or why are they late, did they crash the car thoughts come in, because they wilI. I need to glance at my pre-flight checklist and acknowledge that I have a fear of abandonment which is stoking the flames of the negative fires burning in my brain. I need to go after them one thought at a time – dousing them with logic and pragmatic reflection until they are just smoldering embers waiting for the next opportunity to ignite.

Farewell 41

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Farewell 41

The letter that George HW Bush left for Bill Clinton is welcoming and classy. Even if you disagreed with the politics of President Bush, he was a good man who served his country well. Seeing this letter on social media made me wonder what kind of letter will Trump leave for his replacement?

So many things to ponder…

  • Will he spell collusion correctly?
  • How many times will he mention HRC directly or indirectly?
  • How many times will “great” be used?
  • Will it be in crayon?
  • Handwritten or typed?
  • How many times will he mention Obama and what a lousy job he did?
  • Will he be writing it from a prison cell or a golf course?
  • Will he skip the letter altogether and just set the desk on fire on his way out?
  • Will he shock us all with acrostic poem which spells out P-U-T-I-N.
  • Will there be mention of “Big” (dare I say HUGE) shoes to fill and how that corresponds to foot size and other dimensions I’d rather not think about.

Guess we will have to wait and see.

Thanks for Asking

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Thanks for Asking

The idea for this post came from the talented, fierce and very funny, Janelle Hanchett. Somehow she accepted my Facebook friend request a few years ago and by some miracle she hasn’t unfriended me yet. Anyhoo, Janelle posted a completely made up Q & A as supplemental material for her paperback. Of course it was funny because she’s awesome like that. And I discovered that we both like Ginger Beer (calm down it’s not actually beer, we’re sober gals). Here’s a link to her book and in full disclosure, I get nothing but good vibes for the mention. I’m Just Happy to Be Here

I read her Facebook post and thought, I can take that and turn it into a blog post because I’m apparently too lazy to write an actual book. So I’m going to one up my girl Janelle and have a fake book (kind of fake, actually it’s a partially finished book) to go along with my quasi fake book’s Q & A. I will refer to my imaginary interviewer as “Skip” and I will respond as Super Cringe.

Skip: Thanks for taking time from your world wide book tour to talk to me. Might I add that you look amazing and I’m a major fan (wink).

Super Cringe: My pleasure Skip. I had some time to kill before my private jet leaves for Copenhagen so why the hell not. Fire away Skipper.

Skip: Great let’s dive in…so where did you get the idea for Super Cringe?

Super Cringe: The idea sprang from a text exchange with my teen daughter who responded to one of my texts with Super Cringe there was also an Ewwww implied but not included in the text. I could hear the audible eye roll even though we were at least 12 miles apart, her eye roll game is really strong. I thought wouldn’t it be fun to create a character named Super Cringe.

Skip: So you decided to turn your daughter’s insult into the anti heroine Super Cringe, is that correct?

Super Cringe: B-I-N-G-O Skippy!

Skip: Wow, that’s kind of brilliant.

Super Cringe: Is it? I hadn’t really noticed but these books are flying off the shelf so….holds palms and head up toward sky with an exaggerated shrug-sigh.

Skip: How did you find the time to write Super Cringe? I hear you have a small business and that you volunteer regularly in addition to your family obligations.

Super Cringe: Oh Skippy, writers don’t “find” time to write, they steal it. Time isn’t hiding in-between couch cushions or stashed in a coat pocket that you forgot about. I had to sneak writing time in…15 minutes here, an hour there. I basically would ignore my children when they begged for food and/or attention, my husband and dog were neglected, that’s the writer’s way.

Skip: Aside from being on every major best-selling book list on earth, is there something else you wish to accomplish with this book?

Super Cringe: Of course Skipper…I mean being a best-selling globe trotting author is fantastic, it’s a dream come true. However, there are more important matters. I would love for this book to open a space where people can come together, see that they have more in common, find the sweet spot of humanity. World peace would be great….(whispers) f*cking world peace from Super Cringe (stares off for a minute, slowly nods head).

Skip: Um, Super Cringe, you with me…

Super Cringe: Apologies, I was just visualizing world peace. I also wouldn’t mind if this book got me back the body I had at 28 Skip, I mean that was a damn good year. And being able to eat whatever I wanted without consequence, pass the Oreos.

Skip: (Nervous laugh) So getting back to the book…it’s basically your life with some of the more cringe-worthy bits highlighted.

Super Cringe: That’s right Skip, I own my cringe.

Skip: Fascinating, do you have another book in you?

Super Cringe: Well I haven’t stopped my cringe-worthy ways so I suspect this may become a series. Stay tuned.

 

 

 

* Featured art is by Lisa McMillen of http://www.cicalisadesigns.com/