Taking a Moment to Enjoy Small Things or I Was a Sad Crazy Bitch Lady Yesterday and Today Will Be Better

Yesterday was ugly for me. I was sad and angry. I was stressed and hurt. So today I am going to take a minute to think and be grateful for things that make me happy.

  1. I am grateful for pink blooms on trees that litter the ground after a storm. That shit is pretty.
  2. The trees at the health department are starting to bud. I will forever find it funny that the trees there can give me such joy. Beautiful trees, vaccinations for children, and STD tests: That place has everything.
  3. Blue Candy. I think it is safe to say that blue candies are the best, and while I understand “blue coconut” may not be a real flavor it is still the best. I know this to be true because there are far less of them in any bag of candy. The manufactures know and are holding out on us.
  4. Diet Coke. Let me make this clear I do not drink Diet Coke to take off pounds. I do not drink it to counter act my calorie intake. I know it rots your insides, but damn if it doesn’t have a great chemical burn.
  5. The color gray.
  6. Wearing brown and black together. Social norms be damned I think it is fine.
  7. My sister and I when we find someone or something that bugs us and we than become consumed by it.
  8. Wax cubes of smells are the greatest invention ever.
  9. Low rumbly thunder.
  10. Adding to my collection of clothes I wish I had on Pinterest. I would be so put together if I lived in that Pinterest board.
  11. The “Ask a Mortician” series on YouTube is the gift I will leave you with. I am Oprah like that. Go to that link and take on the greatness. Go.



Sound of Music, Haters, and Paris Hilton: The Age of Snark

Disclaimer: This was originally written before Christmas and I had forgotten its existence. Please excuse my delay and the many Christmas references. Thank you, The Management.

Last night I was excited to read that NBC is going to show another live performance similar to what they did with The Sound of Music, and this time it will be Peter Pan. When I originally read that NBC was doing a live version of The Sound of Music the dork in me was all a twitter. I was out of town the night it aired, but I had saved it on my DVR, and I looked forward to getting home Friday night so I could cuddle with Saidee and watch three hours of singing, love, nuns, and Nazi subplots. I just knew that Saidee would love it and I was excited that NBC was trying something different. However, the Thursday it aired live my Facebook and Twitter accounts went crazy. Post after post about how terrible it was and many on Twitter were down right mean to Carrie Underwood. I understand that The Sound of Music is beloved by many, but I did not understand the anger being directed at Carrie Underwood. Let me absolutely promise you she did not take this role lightly. I seriously doubt this was her thought, “I will kill this! I will make everyone forget who fucking Julie Andrews even is!” Chances are it went more like, “This is a great opportunity! I can’t believe NBC is even attempting this.” Sometimes I think we live in a world where we don’t want people to be happy and successful. The snark has gotten out of control.

We can all be snarky and a certain degree of snarky is fine.  There is nothing wrong of being critical of something. I, for instance, can’t stand It’s a Wonderful Life.  The scene where the kid gets hit in his ear upsets me and makes me want to enter the television to rip into the hitter. I know many who love this movie and consider it the official movie of Christmas. I am glad they feel that way. I am happy that they enjoy something so fully and it causes them happiness. I feel that way when I catch The Flintstones Christmas Carol on the Cartoon Network. Just because I don’t enjoy It’s a Wonderful Life doesn’t mean I want to trash it to others. I just make the decision to watch something else that night. It really isn’t complicated at all and there is no reason to be mean about it.

Of course sometimes I fall into a pit of snarky and must climb my way back out using a ladder made of earnest. I am snarky about people who I know have done things and then pretend they didn’t to put a good face on social media. I want to list their transgressions for the world to read, but I can’t because it would be mean spirited and my karma can’t take that kind of hit. I am similarly snarky about people who put up inspirational quotes on Facebook that are obviously meant to tear down others.  I am snarky about that teenage bride, Courtney Stodden, because I can’t find any redeeming qualities to this story and I mourn her lost childhood. I am snarky about Paris Hilton because I feel like she plays dumb as a shtick, and that is bad for women. I am vocally critical about many topics, and others I will defend with every ounce of my size 22/24 (sometimes 26) body.

It may make me a hypocrite, but while I turn my nose up at Paris Hilton, I defend Kim and Kanye and wish them happiness. There is no rhyme or reason to what I decide to be earnest about and what I decide warrants some snark. What I do know is that I feel better about myself when I am earnest. Sometimes it is a fight to be positive, just the other day I said something so snarky that I actually felt the need to repent. Often I lose that fight and come out battered and bruised, but I am going to keep trying. I enjoyed what NBC tried to do and thought that the actors did a great job. I am grateful that Saidee loved it and received both the original movie and the NBC version for Christmas. I am grateful that for days we could hear Saidee singing, “I am sixteen going on seventeen.” So, when it is announced who will play Peter Pan let’s take a minute and commend the actress who will try something new. Be gentle with the words you use, unless NBC picks Paris Hilton to play Peter, if that is the case snark away my friends. Snark away.

Just so Damn Random

I fear being part of a crime and having what is under my finger nails collected for evidence. Today I have picked both my nose and Saidee’s nose. I scrapped something sticky off of my favorite bracelet. I dug my nails into the softness of the steering wheel as I drove. I scratched at the pimple on the back of my neck. I ate a Weight Watchers peanut butter cup (okay, I ate four).  The remnants of this are collected under my weak and misshapen nails. So what I picture happening is David Caruso swabbing under my nails after I scratch a would-be assailant. The techs would process the nail gunk and the results would come back that I am disgusting. They would never find the criminal I scratched because they would be focused on how a single person can be so gross. I wash my hands, I swear I do, but I also just scratched my ear, so whatever gunk was on/in my ear is now transferred to my fingernail bed and just waiting to be mocked by a crime scene tech.

I fear farting during sex and killing my last sexy moment. Sometimes bending in an odd position just causes you to pass gas. I understand that there is nothing wrong with this and it is a natural occurrence. I am self-aware enough to know that I am holding onto any remnants of sexy by a very thin thread. I think that I lost my sexy card the week I had Saidee. In an attempt to fix damage done by previous C-sections my doctor cut me hip bone to hip bone. A grown man could have been pulled out of the incision that was made. To make the pain less they threaded a pain pump in with the incision. So, this left me with about 30 staples holding my insides in, a pump dangling from my body, a poorly groomed vaginal area, a stomach covered in iodine, and greasy knotted hair from being on my back for two days. I needed a shower in a bad way. I made my way to the shower, hunched over like a 90 year old women with osteoporosis, shuffling my feet the entire way. Once in the shower I became deathly ill and called Carvell for help. He held me up and a nurse found me a chair that I could sit in while I showered. The entire time I was in there he stood next to me and held the pain pump that was tethered to my body. To me sexy needs to have just a hint of secrecy and that day I felt like I had been sliced open and all my secrets were pulled out one by one. That was the day I turned in my sexy card.

I fear having a car accident on a day that I don’t wear underwear. On days that I don’t wear underwear it is not because I am trying for sexy. It is that I can’t find a pair of clean panties in the mound of clothes that rivals Mount Everest that blocks access to my washer and dryer. Normally, I get out of the shower and walk to the laundry pile and start to search. I then become quickly irritated and give up the hunt for my plus-sized underwear. I get dressed in an outfit that will be least likely to show that I am a trollop without any panties on. My fear of being in an accident with no underwear on is directly related to a car accident I had in which I was wearing underwear two sizes too small. I was driving down a road that I didn’t know on a night that was dark, cold, and rainy. As I got ready to turn into a driveway, two idiots who had stolen gas and were trying to make a quick getaway hit me. They didn’t just hit me once. They bumped me, which caused my car to turn, they then t-boned me, which crushed in my driver’s door and pushed my car into a propane tank that busted and began filling my car with the gas. I managed to escape out the passenger side and went for help. While this seems traumatic enough for most people, the real trauma came while I was at the hospital. One of my favorite people in the world showed up at the hospital, Trish “the Dish” Estes. She knew most of the staff and was using any pull she had to get me into a room quickly. She also proceeded to take pictures of me in my too small underpants that kept rolling down onto the middle of my ass. This was not the only time that Trish would photograph me in a compromising situation. She also documented the night I broke my leg and my friends rolled me over like a beached whale in an attempt to straighten my pants and drawers. I love that girl like she is my sister and I know she would give me a kidney if I needed one. I also know that she would poke at the incision from the transplant and photograph me while my hospital gown gapes open from behind.

Other things I fear are birds in flight, sink holes, the fact that there are websites dedicated to the eating of other humans, big scary crickets, mice, large groups of people, and panic attacks. I am working on not concentrating so much on the things that scare me. I will concentrate on the knowledge that Dairy Hill is opening back up and soon on a warm spring day we will go place an order for a cheese dog and some onion rings. I am concentrating on taking Saidee to the park and watching her run and practice cartwheels. I am concentrating on watching my daughters strap skates to their feet and lining up for a two minute jam.  I am concentrating on my love of Pine Sol and just how good it smells.

Today I try for fearless and I concentrate on unconceivable joy.

What Happens the Moment You Are Freshly Pressed: A Word Press Dream

Word Press has a feature called Freshly Pressed. It is where they pick some of the best blogs of the day and post them on a separate page. I want to be “Freshly Pressed” more than I want just about anything, because I require a great deal of validation. After I post a blog I start texting friends and family for feedback. “What did you think?” “Did you laugh?” “What was your favorite sentence?” I bother them with questions until I feel the proper amount of acceptance. It is at that point I start watching my stats and shares in a mildly obsessive manner. I have an illness of questionable self-worth.

The following is what I believe happens once this blogging honor is bestowed upon you.

One.  You are immediately asked to co-host the Today show. I would of course be a smash hit and people would call my time as co-host a breakthrough in journalism as I would be the first plus-sized announcer on the Today show. My notoriety would become even greater when I would refuse to report a story on Lindsey Lohan because “that bitch is crazy and this isn’t news.” I would be fined $100,000 for the outburst but the fine would be paid by a TV producer who offers me my own talk show on AMC.

Two.  Someone comes to your home to wash and fold your laundry. My new laundry friend and I would become best friends. Together we would tackle the 1,000 socks that sit at the bottom of the laundry basket that seem to have no match. While my laundry buddy and I fold we will discover that we have almost everything in common and we will create a laundry room system so organized that it will eliminate any back log of slacks and underwear that I have. Also, my laundry buddy is Adele and she loves my throw pillows. We discuss the beauty of my couch pillows for hours and she tells me she understands how important they are to me. After the laundry is finished she smokes and says bollocks. I ask if she is an Elvis Costello fan.

Three. Lena Dunham the creator of Girls would publically apologize to me for stealing my gimmick. The world can only have so many awkward girls with massive self-esteem issues and tattoos. She gets to live in NYC, have a television show, and publishing deal, so I want to take cardigans and questionable self-worth back.  After her apology we agree that if we work together there can be world enough for the two of us. She says that I have unique perspective and asks if I would like to be a consultant for her show. I tell her that I would love that but will need to put a stop to my co-host of the Today show duties. The Today show is of course devastated.

Four. Somehow Word Press makes me photograph well. I have no idea how they do it. I just accept it as a Freshly Pressed perk.

Five. (Spoiler Alert) Author Gillian Flynn calls me so we can discuss a plan for Nick. She tells me that she understands that I have unfinished business with the characters in her book.  She agrees to write a second book that gives me closure and takes care of that crazy bitch Amy once and for all. The publisher of Gone Girl also agrees to give a copy of the book to everyone who likes my blog just in case they haven’t read it yet.

Six. Word Press sends a representative to my Dad’s house and convinces him that it would be fine for me to tattoo the lower halves of both of my arms. Of course Dad is at first reluctant, but the Word Press rep makes such a good case that Dad agrees my arms would look better covered in tattoos. The tattoos are done and immediately I am able to sleep a night’s worth of uninterrupted sleep, because in the “Freshly Pressed” world anxiety, sleep, and tattoos are interconnected.

Seven. The Chinese and Thai restaurants in town start delivering like self-respecting restaurants should.

Eight. Old Navy starts carrying XXLT shirts in their stores.

And to think all of this happens the minute you are chosen to be Freshly Pressed, who knew? I need to spend more time thinking about what I am writing and less on who is reading it, but I think we all know that I am not that self-aware…yet. For a few real ideas about being “Freshly Pressed” check out this link listed below.


Today, Yesterday, and Tomorrow

Today has kicked my ass a little.

Yesterday my husband did a dramatic reenactment of The Battle Hymn of the Republic using jazz hands.

Tomorrow will not be today.

Today I wore a purple scarf with bicycles on it. It makes me smile.

Yesterday my middle child washed empty shot gun shells in the bathtub for an art project.

Tomorrow is Wednesday and I have always been fond of Wednesday.

Today Saidee woke up and got dressed with little arguing.

Yesterday Trey and I slept with a heater on me and a fan on him. I am convinced we can create a thunderstorm if we keep that up.

Tomorrow I will remember to pack a lunch for work.

Today I blinded myself with my cell phone at four in the morning and fought the urge to wake Carvell to discuss my obviously damaged cornea.

Yesterday I was able to sleep late.

Tomorrow I will laugh at something that no one else thinks is funny.

When I stop to really think about it. Today isn’t that bad at all.