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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.”

WHAT?

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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Get It Together, Kate. Get It Together.

manifestos April 28, 2017

Greetings from the coziest of beds here on Lavender Lane. Slow start to the morning, as it happens once in a while.

This morning, I’m feeling a little sluggish due to some meds that I’m taking. See, here’s the thing, about a month ago (ish), I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. It’s not a shocking dx, as the majority of the women in my family have had some variation of it, but it is a pain in the ass nonetheless. They have me on a med that, if i remember to correctly take it, keeps the joint pain more or less under control, but not as much as I would prefer. Some days are better than others. Yesterday was a craptastical day. I was having a hard time doing basic things yesterday like walking the pup. Actually, more accurate, I had a hard time clicking the leash onto the dog, but whatever. Some days it’s hard to pick up my Yeti. Other days, are totally normal. Yesterday, was a 1-2 punch with my hands sucking it and my ankle was really feeling it. I have to learn to be more patient with myself and just adjust accordingly. I felt shitty when a client called and I was having a hard time typing yesterday morning. Sigh.  This morning everything feels so much better, so I’m going to chalk up yesterday to just a bad day and what I think might have been an accidentally skipped dose of my meds on Wednesday. Whatever. Get it together Kate.

I need to get it together. In all areas. I’m moving at such an accelerated speed lately that I realize I’m actually less productive because I have things in some form of moving chaos. My house is absolutely not under control and that is driving me insane. My gardens are a mess, my car needs to be cleaned, I want to do more me stuff and less other stuff.

Hmm.

Maybe I need to take a staycation and just get caught up on life? Possibly.

Maybe I need to start saying no to more things?

I honestly don’t know.

I feel like I got lost somewhere along the day already this year. Got distracted from my goal of extreme badassery and have been slogging in major mediocrity. It’s time to get it together. I have a project I am working on through the end of May. At that point, I’m going to say “no” for a good long while and get my shit together.

My house will be dominated (and painted) by mid June.

My car will be clean by the end of Memorial Day.

I will remember to take my meds every day.

I will spend more time with Weezie girl, who is starting to show major signs of slowing down, and less time managing Georgies crazy. I will spend more time with humans than dogs.

I will plant flowers.

I will spend less time holding my phone.

I will spend more time on the bike.

Most importantly, I’m taking a step back from managing everyone elses crap and focus on my getting my shit together.

In other news, this morning as I was perusing through YouTube, I found this video and now, yet another song is stuck in my head. I have loved this song since Josh Turner released it, however, I never knew Mr. Stapleton wrote it. OF COURSE HE DID. Another blog will be written about another time, featuring  this song( 2009) when I was making a whole big string of life decisions, and driving around one night, in a big ass truck, listening to Josh Turner sing this song all the while eating Whattaburger… wait, where was I going with this?

GET IT TOGETHER KATE.

Onwards to walking Georgie, JLA golf tournament, and oh so much more crap.

And for the record, I’m probably going to listen to this song about 10 more times.

 

 

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Miss Franklin, We Have to Talk

manifestos April 20, 2017

Picture this. Lavender Lane, 5:30am.

Queen of Craptastical (ahem), is sweeping up piles of dog hair and scrubbing a toilet. You know, living the glamorous life.

The 5 Hour Energy not nearly kicked in, I decided to layer some good music to my morning. Naturally, I yelled out to Alexa “Play Aretha.”

Alexa and I are on a first name basis with Miss Franklin in the morning, by the way.

So, RESPECT comes on, and it gets me shaking my money maker as I am silently cursing owning not one but two dogs of labradorian lineage. I’m singing at the top of my lungs :

“Or you might walk in (respect, just a little bit)
And find out I’m gone (just a little bit)
I got to have (just a little bit)
A little respect (just a little bit)”

It felt good. Empowering. A woman who takes no shit. A woman who will call a 21 year old in the dead of the night during a snow storm to go pick up something to eat. THAT, in itself is another story.

So, I was feeling my morning groove Miss Franklin. Feeling it. Scrubbing the house. Mentally making a plan for the day. Getting ready to go kick some ass, take names and blah blah blah. I was getting ready to take the bad dog for a walk when this gem comes on the Echo:

And Miss Franklin, I’m sorry, but this song made me ANGRY.

You are Aretha EFFING FRANKLIN. You don’t tap on some schmucks door that walked out. YOU walk away.  I have loved this song my ENTIRE life. I never really listened to the lyrics before. I mean, I knew the lyrics by heart, but I never really paid attention until this morning. Miss Franklin, I got angry.

You are a bad ass. You do not:

“I’m gonna swallow my pride
I’m gonna beg you to (please baby please) see me”

Screw that.

Context:

I’ve spent the better part of my adult waiting for some schmuck to come back to me. There, I said it. I waited for him to magically realize that I was the one. I tolerated so much bad behavior out of the modern day Peter Pan that it embarrasses me. My musical hero has basically always told me that I should just wait until he comes back. That I should just say a little prayer for him. Miss Franklin, I don’t understand how you can belt out RESPECT in one breath and then croon the following:

“Living for you my dear
Is like living in a world of constant fear
In my plea, I’ve got to make you see
That our love is dying
Although your phone you ignore”

 

Listening to these songs this morning with open ears is a little bit like finding out that Santa Claus is just really your OCD mother who spends hours obsessively wrapping everything in white tissue paper. It’s just kind of a let down. I know it’s just music. I know this is your job to entertain.

Frankly, the message sucks.

As a single female, we get a ton of shit tossed our ways. The side glances, the pity. The lack of invitations to couples weekends. The “your standards are too high.” “You are too picky.” OH MY GOD, the list goes on and on and on. We are constantly told that we will not be complete until we have some partner that fulfills our plus one. It’s the societal norm ya know. Forget the fact that guys do NOT get the same level of shit for being equally single.

It just kinda sucks to hear you singing :

“Why did you have to decide
You had to set me free
I’m gonna swallow my pride
I’m gonna beg you to (please baby please) see me”

No, I’m not going to swallow my pride. Screw that. If some dude wants to see me, he knows where to find me. Miss Franklin, I’m kinda done with this shit.

ps.. you know I still love you long time and I will happily deliver a canned ham basket to you any day. Just say the word. I apologize for my tone, but this just made me hangry. Have a good day Miss Franklin. I hope you are fabulous.

 

Signed,

Feeling Sassy

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