Browsing Date

May 2017

Tuesday Trifling Thoughts

rants May 30, 2017

Do you ever just wake up in a weird, off, not right mood?

That was me today. I have zero reasons to be snarky before 9 am. First of all, I’m off today. I have a whole day to do “me things”. Secondly,  I have a list of things I want to do. Instead of being excited about these things, I woke up like a grumpy petulant child who probably needed to go back to sleep for 7 more hours.

Odd really.

Thought #1I think I blame the internet. Ya, that’s the ticket. I blame the internet. I woke up, checked in on all the things and saw that our President of these glorious United States is snarking on Germany again. On Twitter. I just shake my head. I’ve gotten bitched at for being snarky on social media and I barely lead a team, much less the damn Free World. How is this OK? Why hasn’t anyone taken away his Twitter account? Why is he allowed to drop thinly veiled threats? Why is he still trying to make the news the enemy? I don’t get it. And frankly, I’m disappointed in Twitter. They have shut down other accounts for less threatening/bullying, and yet, they allow the President to act like a shitty teenager? Clearly, money is more important than creating a platform that has consistent rules for all users.

Thought #2

I don’t know how to take a real day off. Today, I took the day off to get my life together. I work from home so often times I don’t pay attention to the DMZ that my house has become. Sure, I went out of town this weekend, but some days you just need to take a day and do things. It’s annoying to me that I feel guilty about taking a day off. Truthfully, I’ve already checked emails, put out one fire and made sure all of my campaigns are healthy. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Why can’t I just unplug fully?

Thought #3

I need to cook all of the food this week. I’m headed onto the wagon until I fly north to the BIS. I’m going to eat clean, rebuild my liver, and hope for the best. I have a very specific weight loss goal with a very specific dangling carrot if I lose said weight. Might I dig deep inside me and exercise a small modicum of self-control? Is this even possible? DO I EVEN HAVE ANY SELF CONTROL?

Actually, yes, I do.

I have more self-control than many even can comprehend.

Do you know how many thoughts I leave unspoken?

Do you know how many incredibly inappropriate things I don’t do?

Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to sit in a meeting and just give the single digit salute?

But I don’t. I have self-control. I just need to extend this to my food and mouth.

Actually, my mouth needs to learn a lot of self-control.

I need to speak less.

I need to eat less.

I need to snark less.

I need to get off the damn computer before I start actually saying ALL OF THE THINGS I’m THINKING.

I’m going to go chop fruit, dig dirt and do stuff.

Be good today on this Tuesday. Don’t be a stupid Tweeter.






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manifestos May 29, 2017

It’s that time of the year again. That gutting realization that it’s time to shove your body into a piece of spandex/lycra and pray to the deities that everyone around you is either a.) blind b.) drunk or c.) fatter than you. It’s bathing suit season.

The magical time of year when women start losing their proverbial shit at the idea that multitudes of people are going to see them in a hell of a lot less clothing than they normally wear.

I had my annual freak out this morning when I was starting to gather some crap to run away for the weekend. I tossed a few suits into the pile and thought out loud “maybe I’ll just skip the pool.”


Screw that.

I am a water loving, sun-worshiping human. I feel better when I’m floating in a pool/lake/river/ocean. I’m nicer to everyone if I get some sun. I feel better about life when I get a little float time.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a super model. I have never had a body that stopped people on the streets. I mean, maybe if I was particularly cleavy, someone might pause and say “put those things away”, but I’m not one of those people that have a “banging body.”

I’m clearly ok with that, otherwise, I would dedicate my life toning/firming/surgically improving ALL of the things.

I realized this morning, that I still care, but I’m certainly not going to miss out on stuff because I’m afraid to let my big ass be seen in public. Or my thighs. Or my boobs. Whatever.

Life is short.

I was raised in a house that was the opposite of a naked house. Literally. We covered all of the things up. My mother has never in my life worn a skirt, shorts and certainly not a bathing suit. She has never enjoyed her body, always finding fault, and by default, has extended that to others. She has vocalized many times over the years that I should not wear revealing clothes because “no one wants to see that.” I literally wore baggy clothes, sizes larger than me until I was in college. Nothing makes a teen girl feel awesome than having your mom drag you to Lane Bryant so that you can buy jeans that don’t “hug your butt.” No one knew I had boobs until I was out of the house- I hid those under layers and layers of baggy clothes.

Over it.

Life is too short to hate your body.

Mine is far from perfect. I get that. I”ve known that forever. I’m not going to hide though. I’m going to find a suit that is comfortable, doesn’t ride up the butt cheeks and hoik the girls up enough that I don’t look like a photo from National Geographic. I realize that I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there have been at least 2 dudes in the history of me that have tolerated all of “this.” I think it’s going to be ok.

Onwards to the pool. Hand me a drink and some SPF… It’s summer time!

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gypsy soul

manifestos May 21, 2017

Yesterday, I was lamenting, loudly, to anyone who would listen to me about the fact that somehow I’ve landed and become fully ensconced in suburban life.

This is the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a kid at home. Even then, I think I’m breaking records with the exclusion of the first 12 years of my life in GC.

I’ve got the itch. I’m starting to feel somewhat smothered. My friend Caren said it’s the siren song of the spring, to want to pack up life and head to the island for a summer of slave labor and debauchery. That was 20 years ago. Why is it that I still feel the strong urge to pull up stakes and head somewhere else?

When I came back to DFW, it was never in the plans to be permanent dwelling. I came back to recover from the last life failures, figure a few things out, and then onwards to the next place. I started traveling heavily with a fair amount of time being spent NOT here. I honestly fell into this life without really trying. It just organically came to fruition.

Now, years later, I sit on my front porch on Lavender Lane. I stare at the gardens, the porch, the rocking chairs that need to be refinished, and I feel a strong apathy to all of the things. Yesterday, I walked through the house thinking about what crap I actually would keep versus just easily donate if I wanted to make the next move.

The next move feels closer than it has in years. My head isn’t in the game anymore. The one thing I have done right in the past decade is to build a career that isn’t dependent on being in an office. Instead, I can work just about wherever as long as I have a computer and a decent WiFi connection.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always thought I would pack up my stuff and move back to Michigan at some point. Reentry into whence I came. It doesn’t feel right anymore. It feels like a step backward instead of a step forward. Perhaps at some point, I will actually commit to having a summer house in northern Michigan, but at this point, I daresay that the move back to the mitten has a low probability of happening.

I have a short list of places that I would entertain relocating to. None of them feel quite right yet. Clearly, my head isn’t quite there yet, but it’s not quite here either.

It’s as if I’m in a perpetual limbo just waiting to determine the next “where.”

I’m ready for my next adventure. My next gypsy journey. In the meantime, while I figure out where I want to be, I’m going to be hitting the road often. To clear my head, to gain some clarity. Onwards to Austin, North Dakota, California, Michigan, and Colorado. I’ve got some exploring to do.

I can’t help but add this monstrosity:

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May Day, not Mayday

random me May 1, 2017

Happy May Day! Truthfully, over the past month, I’ve muttered the phrase “mayday” more than once, but the purpose of this post is to discuss the merry (Mary?) month of May.

I remember this from when I was a child:

Rise up, the children of their house, all in your rich attire,
For the summer springs so fresh, green, and gay;
And all the hair upon your heads shines like the silver wire;
Drawing near unto the merry month of May.

When I was a child, my mother would make these precious little woven baskets and place fresh daffodils and other flowers from our garden

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