Monday, December 17, 2018

Life moves fast

I used to have reservoirs just a few steps from my wee cottage's front door. Full of bears, squirrels, deer, foxes, and a few animals I dare not think about. I had half a dozen delish restaurants a few more steps from my back door, which is why those pesky fifteen pounds never disappeared. I also had four and a half brutiful years with my monkeys in that house, as we healed from our hearts breaking, then broke and healed a couple more times.

And now.

                                                 Now this. I have this out my front door.

               
                                                            And this out my backdoor.


        And this at my island- messy and beautiful, all at once. Brutiful, as Glennon Doyle, says.

I guess my point is, nothing stays forever. Things change, and this is proof that change can be the best thing. As Ferris Bueller says, life moves pretty fast. If you don't look around once in a while, you might miss it. Soooo, look around. Love the mess. And if you are broken, know that your pieces will be put back together into something different and better.

Peace and love and healing the pieces, buttercups. XX

Pigs in Tutus.

This time of year is so hard for so many people. The world tells us it is supposed to be full of glittery goodness and perfection confections, but the raw reality is that the holidays have a ton of baggage.
So I am suggesting that you ignore Pinterest and Instagram influencers and just do you. Most of that rubbish is meant to sell you something, whether it be a literal product or the idea that someone else's life is grandiose and perfect- fuck that shit. You probably do not need the product and that Instagram person has pimples and issues just like the rest of us.


Do YOU. If that means making cookies, great. If that means binge watching Criminal Minds, also great. Cover your tree with the tattered homemade ornaments your kiddos made. Refuse to put up Christmas lights if they stress you out, or go all in with inflatable Christmas dragons and pigs in tutus if they make you happy.




No holiday spirit? That's okay- indulge in self care, and try to do something nice for people who might also be struggling at this time of year.

No money? Write them a letter or a note, telling them your favourite memory or why you love them.

No time? Write them a short note, letting them know that they matter to you.

All the money and time and holiday spirit in the world? Do the above, and attach it to a baby blue convertible, a la Santa Baby.

Even though I am posting this via social media, I am also going to suggest that you turn away from your Instagram and Facebook these next few days. We all know they are going to be full of beautiful pictures that are designed to make us feel less than. If you do insist on looking, at least remember that the artful sunrise was taken a hundred different times with a 10K camera, and that the perfect family portrait also involved a hundred takes, bribery, tears, and maybe a shot of whiskey. Embrace your present imperfection, be kind to yourself and your people, and know that these days are more than what is being sold to you.

Peace and love and present imperfection, buttercups. XX

Sunday, October 7, 2018

Ice Cream Cookie Cakes

Whore.
This word has so much weight, but only if we allow it.

A bit of a backstory here. Actually two backstories. The first one involves He Who Must Not Be Named's best friend, whom we shall call Good Ol'Boy. The man likes his beer. And his Malibu. And his Crown. He gets really mean and mouthy after he drinks, which is far too often. I have been blessed in that I have very rarely had to deal with him over the last few years. After the end of my relationship with He Who Must Not Be Named, I might see him occasionally at a town council meeting or a farmer's market. He was no longer part of my daily life, so I no longer had to try and gauge when he would go from funny to abusive.
Second backstory. NextDoor, everyone's favorite app, where "neighbors talk and good things happen." I love NextDoor, even when it makes me want to tear my hair out. People find their lost pups, get help when their car batteries are dead, buy and sell things to keep them out of landfills and so many other amazing things. Several months ago, I became a Lead, which is a volunteer position. I absolutely love being a lead most of the time- I have gotten to know so many people and learned so much. And then.
Then you have the problem people. The people who are more like YouTube commenters or who NextDoor While Drinking. The people who write posts on NextDoor that they probably should have kept to themselves. If their posts break rules, they get reported, voted on, and removed. These posts usually involve hate speech, abuse, name calling, or threats- contrary to popular belief, they do not get removed because leads don't like the opinion or the person. This is where the two backstories converge.
Good Ol'Boy likes to post OFTEN, especially in the evening, which leads one to believe he is probably NextDooring While Drinking. Because he is He Who Must Not Be Named's bestie, I steer clear of his posts. Even when they are nasty, abusive, and breaking every NextDoor rule out there, I let other leads and members report and remove his posts. He has been banned from the site twice now. Pretty impressive to be banned, not once, but twice. Both times that he has been banned, he has blamed me, and threatened me via Facebook and texts.
The first time, his threats were bad enough that I called the police. Other people alerted me to his Facebook rant where he vowed that I was going to get what was coming to me. The second time, I woke up to this gem.

Having not voted or had anything to do with his craziness, I had to dig a little to figure out that he had been banned again. I texted back that he needed to get help. He continued on his text rant with "bitch" and "whore" and other pleasantries that I bet would surprise his pastor, for several more texts. His final rant included that I was "the ice cream cookie cake of bitches."

Hard stop.

Huh?

Ice Cream Cookie Cake of Bitches? I was messaging a friend as all of this was being texted because I was so mad at being subject to the abuse being spewed at me for no reason. Then I got called this. Imagine my confusion.
I asked my friend, "What does that mean? Is he lactose intolerant? Does he hate ice cream and cookies and cakes? Because everyone knows that ice cream cookie cakes are fucking delicious!!!"
Then I went from being so mad to laughing so hard that my sides hurt. I had already promised myself that I would not respond because it is not cool to mess with the mind of someone who is obviously not okay, but I finally had to respond with, "ICE CREAM COOKIE CAKES ARE FUCKING DELICIOUS!!!"

Crickets after that. I tell you all of this for a handful of reasons. One, be grateful for your NextDoor leads because they put up with more drama than you can fathom. Two, I now lock all my doors for the first time in four years and if anything ever happens to me, Good Ol'Boy's doorstep should be the first step for law enforcement. Three, calling someone the Ice Cream Cookie Cake of Bitches is seriously perplexing. Am I delicious? Am I layers of delicious? Am I cold enough to give you a wicked headache? Am I sweet enough to give you a touch of the diabeetus? What does that mean? And four, calling someone a whore who is not in fact a whore, says much more about you than it does about them. While I am pretty sure he meant to shame me, he actually gave me a pretty hearty laugh. Made my attorney laugh too, especially with the threats.

Peace and love and whores and ice cream cookie cakes, buttercups. XX


Hazy summer

I remember the water- murky lake water that smelled like summertime. I remember being blissfully happy, thinking that we were having fun. That I finally had a "real" boyfriend, a nice guy. I had never had that before- I was an "easy" girl from the wrong side of the tracks with serious daddy issues and a penchant for looking for love in all the wrong ways.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

August

Do you ever have one of those moments when you do something so incredibly stupid, and
you have only yourself to be furious with? Looking back, I like to call that particular
moment August. I ignored my intuition and let my boundaries be trampled over, but I can
really only blame myself for the approximately 720 hours of hell that was the month
of August. Let this be a cautionary tale, friends.
We were supposed to be moving to Castle Rock, and thought it would be the end of
August to mid-September. An employee at a local restaurant overheard me say that I was
going to be renting my house when we closed on the Castle Rock home. He was
super-interested and told me about what an absolute great tenant he was,
how he was so clean that you could eat off of his floors, and on and on. I worked
with him, he seemed to have it together at the restaurant, and he talked a great story.
After several conversations, I decided that I would rent to him.

Life moves fast

I used to have reservoirs just a few steps from my wee cottage's front door. Full of bears, squirrels, deer, foxes, and a few animals I ...