I’ve said for quite some time, when describing it to people who ask, that this blog space is like a lifestyle blog, except the opposite. You know? Like, when I think lifestyle blog, I think Martha Stewart or Goop or Chrissy Teigen (whom I ❤️ and with whom I am well pleased) . Someplace neat and tidy and pretty and delicious, right? I definitely do not think of a mentally ill mother of five who pooped her closet. Or who plays I Spy with the items found under her couch. Or who shows off the Ancient Horrifying Golem Stubs ™, ℠, ®, © that exist underneath her dental makeover. ...
I’ve been thinking a lot about kindness lately. Really, I’d say it’s all I think about anymore. Kindness and strangers. Kindness and kids. Kindness and politics. Kindness and cages. Kindness and marriage. Kindness and sex. Kindness and time. Kindness and self. And kindness and how to push more into the universe like a brilliant shaft of light from my belly, Care Bear style. ...
Alrighty. I’ve learned two important things in the last two days, as follows:
1. I’ll never be able to pay a significant cash ransom should any of my people be kidnapped, so cross fingers that doesn’t happen.
2. I just turned I Have to Be Home in Time for the Democratic Debates years old.
Regarding Thing #1 — free tip from me to you — do NOT try to do bookkeeping in your head. Or, if you DO try to do bookkeeping in your head, be better at remembering expenses than I am. 🙄 Here’s the sitch… I paid a big farm bill via check. And I was pretty sure I had enough dollars in the farm checking account to cover it. So I didn’t double check. And then, in a shock to me and to zero other people because everyone else seems to understand my brain better than I do, there were NOT enough dollars in the account to cover it. That’s because I left the dollars in a different account. And did you know if you write a check without enough dollars in your account that the bank WILL NOT COVER IT just out of the goodness and generosity of their hearts? IT’S TRUE, friends. THEY WILL NOT. And then, because you don’t want to be more of an asshole to the People You Were Supposed to Pay than you’ve already been by writing a bad check, you will try to pull out All the Monies in cash so you can hand them a wad of bills like a drug deal instead of another check they may or may not want to trust. ...
I had a dream the other night. I was hiking with friends, and there was something in my shoe stuck to my sock just past the ball of my left foot. Not enough to hurt me immediately but enough to be irritating and cause a problem if I left it there too long.
I sat down in the middle of the trail in my nylon runner’s short shorts, navy blue with white trim like the kind I wore to Ladera Elementary School in the 4th grade when I got called into the principal’s office for being immodest by showing off too much of my nine-year-old legs. I sat down in the dry dust on the mountain pass, and my friends stopped, too, and I pulled off my shoe to examine my sock and find the burr or the rock or the gritty ball of sap stuck there. ...
Last month, I traveled.
Or maybe not specifically with YOU-you.
But with humans who are fun, and funny, and fully unapologetically themselves, and willing to be real and have vulnerable convos, and break bread and clink glasses, and make inappropriate jokes, and welcome others in.
So PRACTICALLY with you, yes? Which is probably not much consolation when others got to eat the fresh Italian pasta, but I have an idea to fix that, and it’s this: ...
Just a very quick update from me (even though I’m behind on telling you ALL THE THINGS, which I hope to fix soon) because TODAY was Phase One for NEW TEETH.
All for ME!
Strictly speaking, having one’s face mauled by a dog in early childhood has its downsides. Reconstructive surgeries starting at age two. Plastic surgeries starting at seven. Oral surgery, braces more than once, and five fake teeth installed 30 years ago that have aged about as well as you’d expect. Those things were… less than pleasant. ...
Dear Charmin Toilet Paper,
I love you. I do. And I feel like it’s important to say so right up front. I love you, and I have good reasons. You’re soft. You’re dreamy. You’re durable. And you’re not likely to break under pressure, which I always admire because I can’t do that. At all. Like, not even a little.
Oh, no; I definitelybreak under pressure. This very day, for example, one of my kids looked me in the eyeballs and said in a vaguely threatening monotone, “I know you do,” after I assured him I do not have chocolate hidden in my bedroom. Like this: ...