Send In The Clowns

 

Tinder. 

Tinder, Tinder, TINDER.

I have been wanting to write about this all month but did not quite know how to go about it since I am still in the thick of it.

 

I was messaging someone on Tinder yesterday and told him my profile was turned off more than it was turned on.

Um…

Yeah, you cannot even call that a metaphor.

 

I have been WAY more turned off by Tinder than I have been turned on.

 

Here are things about Tinder that are true:

 

1.  Dudes want to move the conversation to Messenger, Kik, Insta, text, or any other platform so they can ask for nudes. I do not get this.  Not one little bit.  There is a whole wide internet out there and there is Pornhub, so WHY do you want some middle-aged tap dancing mom to send you nudes??  Also, when she refuses them, why do you call her names?

 

Case Study:  66. Literally the most gorgeous human on the planet.  Hilarious, Red Sox fan, smart, well-read, literally the only forearms I want to put my hands on ever again.  We go to texts, I vow nudes are not a thing,

Nudes come up in every convo.

Now, I am totally enamored with his brain and his forearms and his ears, so I keep talking to him through all of this until we have this epic battle that goes like this:

I mean...

 

 

I had enough and now we do not talk.  And I can't even be super sad about it in spite of the - literally - most gorgeous, hilarious, super funny Red Sox fan anyone ever met, because it was so off-putting.

2.       Dudes use old pictures.  I do not get this either.  Like, I get that some chicks use filters to blur their flaws and look much younger and thinner and with thicker eyelashes.  That is trash, my dudes, and I totally understand that.  My pics are blurry because my camera sucks, but I promise you can see every wrinkle, all my fat, my chipmunk cheeks, and all of my insomnia-induced undereye bags…. So, I do not understand why most Tinder dudes use pictures that are at least 10 years old, then get mad when connections do not work out in person – YOU LITERALLY ARE NOT THAT PERSON TODAY, DUDE!

 

Case Study: M.  M matched me and I was not super ok with it because he was super adorable and looked younger than my Eldest, but he was hot af so...  *shrugs, tosses moral reservations out the window*

Anyway, he was hilarious, articulate, smart, engaged in current events, so we talked all day every day for 2 weeks.

As things went on and we moved to text (where he immediately asked for nudes and sent me pics of his junk and his face), it became clear that his profile pictures were older than my 14 year old.

So, I asked about it, like, BRO you know your pics look nothing like you look today, yeah?

GHOSTED.

 

 

3.       Guys on Tinder lie about their height.

OOOF.  Fellas, why do you do this??  I am 5’3”.  So, if you tell me you are 5’10”, and I show up wearing 4-inch heeled boots and I can see your bald spot??  Um….  I do not get this.  At my height, I am hardly able to judge you based on your height.  Why not just be clear from the start?

This happened to me on 2 different occasions, and I was super annoyed.  Not at the shortness, but at the deception.

 

Case Study.  D. 

I meet D at Starbucks in Downtown Vancouver.  We get drinks and walk to the Waterfront, neither of us voicing the obvious – my jaw is on the same level as the top of his head.  I suggest we sit on a bench at the Pier.  I expect him to address it, but NOPE.  So, we talk and walk around and when we say goodbye, I pat him on the head,

Guess who unmatched me before I got home?

 

4.       Guys on Tinder lie about being bald.  This is just ludicrous, Bald is fantastic.  Like, who does not love a slap-head??  I know I do.

 

Case Study.  Chuck.  His name was not Chuck or even Charles, but Chuck is what Peppermint Patty calls her bald friend, so I am all in. 

Chuck wore hats – Red Sox hats, so YUM – in all his Tinder pics.  Thought nothing of it.  We meet for coffee and go walking.

I am wearing a wig to cover my blue mohawk, Chuck is wearing a Red Sox cap over his bald head.

It gets windy.

Since I was totally honest about my hair, I whipped my wig off, fluffed it out, adjusted the straps, and replaced it.

He said he liked the color of my mohawk and asked why I covered it up.  I let him know the whole sordid tale.

The wind blew Chuck’s hat off and exposed him in all his Telly Savalas glory.  Instead of taking the piss, he skulks around and gets all quiet.

Later, as we are messaging as a post-mortem, I ask him about the bald – is it organic or ornamental?

GHOSTED.

 

Guys, I am tired.

I got on Tinder to – this is where my Offspring, Nieces, Sisters, Religious friends etc. need to sign off – ummm…just have casual 'friends'.

So, ya'll, all of this subterfuge and obfuscation is exhausting.

 I literally thought the internet was a place I could go and safely find a FWB without too much drama or effort, but instead I am subject to all of your idiosyncrasies and ignominious behavior.

I object.

 

Why are ya’ll like this??

 

I will tell you that, as of this moment in time, I am talking to some absolutely fabulous humans that have made me laugh and laugh all weekend in spite of me having numerous COVID symptoms and being fearful of my imminent demise.

They are all completely different personalities, and they all get me in some kind of way, and it's super fun.

 

Thus far, I have not seen any evidence of the above issues, but we will see.

 

Fingers crossed, otherwise Imma stay home and look at this forever,

 

I Hope You Dance

8/30 on Day 13.

YA'LL!!  I am lagging!

Anyway, most of us in the #500WordsADay group are not entirely sticking to it, so I feel justified.

I started this month writing about my precious Anna-Boo, and I am going to address her again in my re-entry to the fray.

She tagged me in a FB post about her son Nick's 18th birthday and totally unraveled my heart.

I was in the room with her when that little human - big human now! - came into the world.

She was my Assistant Manager, my best friend, and my favorite face or arm to lick in pictures when I was drunk in the clubs in Portland in the early oughts.

Being in the room with her when she gave birth was an awesome honor, a super scary prospect, and a really intense experience.

I won't traumatize you by going into the horror stories that my insane family told me about their own childbirths, but there was apparently a lot of cursing, yelling, and refusing of marvelous things like epidurals.

48+ hours of excruciating pain and taking it out on nurses and doctors, blah, blah, blah, GROSS.

Fucking kill me.

My Anna did none of those things. 

She was, like, this super zen Madonna (not the performer, look that shit up) and the whole process was amazing, primal, and absolutely something that I pledged to avoid at all costs moving forward.

SWOON

Like, the Dr. brought out this HUGE mirror so she could see what was happening with Nick as he came into the world.

Meanwhile, I was cringing next to her hip, looking at her face so as not to see what was going on below the Mason-Dixon Line.

Soooo, my friend had a baby.  

I mean, she already had 2 children - Sassy Kels and Sunny Devin - but I wasn't in the room when they were born.  

I loved those kiddos as much as I loved their mom and little "Nit", which was what Devin called him at first, but we always are drawn to babies, aren't we?

(Not my 2 daughters, which is why the day I spent today watching Eldest's dog was the same as spending a day with a grandchild - more on this tomorrow!)

Anyway, I loved that baby.

"And she loved a little boy very, very much..."

I loved hanging out and watching American Idol and eating the amazing dinners John cooked for us, holding my boy, listening to Kels and Devin ramble on and on in little-kid talk.

That all ended when my Anna-Banana took her 3 babies and fled to Oz, leaving me with a severely dysfunctional cat named Bob, and I never saw them again until Facebook became a thing.

Friendships are a blessing.  

Like, you meet someone, make them your person, and refuse to let them go. 

Other friendships go away.  Like, they no longer serve either of you so you let go and move on and barely remember how you became friends in the first place.

This is not me and my Ann.

She lives in Australia.

I live in Vancouver, Washington.

We don't have a lot of mutual friends.

I haven't been in the same room as her in YEARS.

Our lives our so different.

Our hearts are the same.

Ran into each other on NW 23rd on a Sunday.  NBD.

She sends me Tiktoks alllllllllll the time, because she knows exactly what is going to make me laugh my face right off my head.

I write blogs about her, declaring my endless love for her to the point I am sure when I finally fly to Oz (thoroughly anesthetized on Chardonnay and - hopefully - with Samantha letting me break her hands during takeoffs), Shane will deny me entrance to their Huntsman-infested house and I will end up sleeping in my rental car in the driveway, or a tent that John lets me put in his refurbished front yard.

I am so glad we are still friends.

We will be friends forever.

One of my favorite movies, two of my favorite actresses, three times we finna roll up on Melbourne like...

Even though her childbirth was not enough for me to NOT get knocked up and produce another human - something even Jeff (fuckface) Bezos doesn't have enough money for me to repeat - I think she is the bees knees.

The cat's pajamas.

The top.

The Coliseum.

(I would say the Louvre Museum, but I think I might be liable to pay some royalties if I did, so I will say she is the National Dinosaur Museum in Canberra, which I hope to visit with her.)

Anyway, I say all of this to say that there is a newly-minted adult in this world who has no idea that I used to hold him in my arms and wrap his tiny, trusting baby hand around my finger while I looked at him and loved him and wished him all of the good things.

Happy 18th Birthday, Nick (Nit), I am still wishing you all those good things from 17 hours away.

Cheers.

The Longing Deep Down

So, am still 530 words behind if I get to 500 today.

I've written thousands of words today between writing on the Book, writing my financial narratives, emails, letters, etc.

Do any of you remember when "they" said we would be paperless and save allllll the trees?

 

I go through reams and reams of paper daily, weekly, and monthly despite all of the online and digital correspondence.

Do you ever think about the difference between how you thought life would be at a certain point and how it actually is?

 

The Digital Revolution was supposed to save trees, but our paperwork has expanded from 8 pages in 1995 to 56 in 2021.

 

Progress was supposed to give us more time, but the average housewife spends as much time cleaning her house today as she did in the 50s, despite gadgets and machines.

 

I wonder if "progress" is even a thing.

 

I will address this when I discuss "Civilized to Death" in my "Mary's Book Club" post on Thursday.

 

I am reading a book called The Book of Longings right now.

It is "historical fiction", which I loathe.  (The Other Boleyn Girl is a fucking travesty and should in no way ever be read by humans, like, Hank 8's story has been told so often we don't need some "Twilight" version of his disastrous marriage to AB)

I had a hard time getting into this book, but now I am hooked.

 

I don't think I am hooked because of the historical aspect.

I don't think I am hooked because of the (barf) romantic aspect of it.

I don't think I am hooked on the religious aspect of it.

 

I think the hook with this story is the idea of longings.

 

Like, who doesn't long for things?

 I long for things all day every day.

I long for sleep.

I long for a quiet mind because my fucking monkey brain never shuts up and I am always replaying actions, ideas, and events; as if thinking about them can change them.

 

I am full of longings for things I don't have.

Peace.

Quiet.

8 hours of sleep.

I am definitely full of longings.

I want my river.

I want my dog.

I want my LD.

So this book, with a frustrated writer that is full of longings is speaking to me right now.

 

You know what else is speaking to me?

You know what I want right this second?

 

I want biscuits and gravy.

I want mashed potatoes and turkey gravy.

I want to hug 66.

I want to put my tap shoes on and dance for another hour.

I want to finish the Book.

I want to go to Taco Tuesday with my friends and eat nachos and mozz sticks because Charlie's has the worst tacos - but the best pool tables - in town.

I want to play Cards Against Humanity with my friends in person.

I am filled with longings from dawn to dusk and I feel like this is not even a bad thing.

I feel like I should let them run and see where they take me.  

Especially that longing for biscuits and gravy.

I mean…am I wrong?

 

 

Speaking of longing...

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

A few things. I am now 1000 words behind. I could write 3 500-word posts tonight. I could write a 1500-word post, but since I am writing 500 words a day on my book every morning, I feel like that might be asking my little pea-brain for too much. I am going to try to write 750 words tonight and then 750 tomorrow morning (bit stuck on the book), and then 500 tomorrow night. That feels a bit ambitious to me, but here I go. 2020 was hard AF for all of us, and I definitely struggled, and it felt like music and writing were the only things that kept me sane. The good lord knows my youngest child drove me insane with her lackadaisical approach to distance learning and discussing her educational shortcomings with her teachers was a massive source of anxiety and frustration. I was so out of sorts in 2020, like all of us were, but December broke my heart. I went to Kelso to help my fabulous, darling KK out at her work. One day, I had a lady named Katherine call. Katherine wanted to know if there was an apartment available for her. There was not. So, I told her that in the most matter-of-fact, don't-call-me-I'll-call-you voice that I use when people call me at my own property. I do not let people call me to see where they are on our waitlist, I tell them to wait for me to call. Katherine did not take it well. It was December 21st, and she took a deep breath in my ear and her voice broke as she said, "Oh. Okay. We were hoping to have the kids out of the van for Christmas... Are you sure? I thought something was going to open up?" I was sure. I was also crying. Not terribly professional, but the office was closed to the public and Katherine did not hear any sound of the tears in my voice because I am one of the best actresses you will ever meet. "I guess I will call back next week?" she asked, somewhat tremulously. YES, PLEASE CALL BACK NEXT WEEK WHEN I AM NOT HERE!! When I out the phone in its cradle, I put my head on my arms and started crying. At work. Kids in the van at Christmas. Like, how is that a thing? Like a total fucking masochist, I found her file and checked out her sitch. Kids are 3 and 4. Just like my niece and nephew, 2 little humans that those of you that know me IRL know are my FAVORITES. I would do anything for those babies. Anything. The idea that those 2 tiny baby souls could have been born into a life where they spend Christmas in a van broke my heart. Like, BROKE it. I composed myself and went back to filing, nagging, fielding calls from disgruntled people. Then Kathryn called me. Not Katherine, Kathryn. Same name, different lady. Kathryn also wanted to know if she was going to get a roof over her head. I also had to tell her no. Kathryn did not mention children, thankfully. Because hearing about children that are hungry, cold, homeless and deprived just fucks with my head like you would not believe. Kathryn spared me that. Instead, she asked me if there was anywhere I knew of that gave out gas cards. She knew there was one church in town that did, but they were completely out and she had no idea where else to get one. I admitted that I was not tapped into resources in Cowlitz County, but I could totally hook her up in Clark County if she could drive there. "Yeah, we can't. We are saving gas to keep the car warm at night and so my husband can go look for work during the day. Driving down there would burn too much gas." I told Kathryn I didn't know of anywhere that had gas cards but assured her that if she came to CR before 5:00, there would be $30 under the doormat for her in an envelope. She started crying. I was already crying, so I just ended he call as quickly as I could and did the whole head-on-the-arms thing again. Then I put the cash in my purse into an envelope and stuck it under the door. Ummm.... Excuse the fuck out of me, but where do I even live? This is America?? Like, this is who the fuck we are right now? And do not EVEN throw some "bootstrap" bullshit at me. There are kids waking up on Christmas in a van. There are parents that worry about how to get enough gas to keep the car warm at night. This is some bullshit, ya'll. There is no excuse, no explanation, there is NOTHING that makes this ok. So, I cried all the way from Kelso to Battle Ground where I picked up my child and hugged my niece and nephew until they got mad. I took my offspring home, walked inside, watched her jump on the $XXX (not telling) gaming computer she got for her birthday, sat on my couch and started crying again. What good are tears, though? Tears don't help anyone. Tears didn't find those kids a home to wake up in on Christmas. Tears don't change policies or practices that create a system that disenfranchises people or allows people to fall through the cracks. Sadly, I got caught up in my own drama/trauma - more on that in another post - and I let the ball drop on my indignation and my vow to do something about this. Lately, though, it is all I have been thinking about and I am definitely picking that ball back up and starting some shit. Watch.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

I didn't post yesterday. I did a Word Count, and I wrote over TWO THOUSAND words yesterday, but I didn't post. My Uncle Jim died Thursday night, so last night I spent an hour on the phone with my dad, remembering his big brother. My Uncle Jim's life was too large and epic to be contained here, although I am going to try soon, so I want to talk about my Dad and his brother. My Dad is so sad right now. His big brother is gone, and so he has no one left in his life that shared his childhood. I can't imagine how that feels, to be honest. There is literally no one in my Dad's life that he was young with. Think about that for a minute. You probably have your childhood friends in your life still. You, hopefully, still have your siblings in your life. My Dad has no one like that in his life. His mother died when he was 14. His father died 20 years ago. His only brother died a day ago. My Dad's entire childhood, growing up in Jackson, Mississippi belongs only to him right now. He is an island. Unmoored. Bereft.

It really hurts me to think that my Dad is in so much pain. It really hurts me to think that there is no one in his life that he can turn to and say, “Hey, remember when Jim burned down the garage (and all of my Grandfather’s WWII memorabilia – uniforms, medals, ribbons, photos, etc.)?” Or, “Remember when Jim tried to figure out why the cherry bomb didn’t explode and blew it up in his face and burned off his eyebrows?” It really hurts me to think that the wild,larger-than-life character that was my Uncle Jim could fade into obscurity and there is no one on this whirling ball of dust and gas that will give an inward laugh and remember something hilarious about “JJ”. So, I am not going to let that happen. Not on my watch, anyway. I consider myself a storyteller, a recorder of thoughts, ideas, emotions, and events. Therefore, it is my job to pull these stories out of my Father. To bear witness. To remember, record, and recite. I cannot be with my Dad right now. I cannot hug him or hold his hand. I cannot console him on the loss of everything it means when your childhood idol, your best friend, the witness to your entire life is just...gone. What I can do is listen. I will let him tell me his childhood stories of the times he had with his brother and laugh and cry with him like we did last night. I will write these stories down and share them with my family - and also with you guys - and keep those memories alive and present. I will do this for my Dad. Because he needs someone to remember and share his past with. I will do this for my Uncle Jim. Because he deserves to be remembered, celebrated, and laughed at. (Yes, laughed at - if you knew him, you would know this is ok) I will do this for myself. Because, if I can keep these memories safe and alive, then my Uncle Jim isn't really gone. He is just somewhere else, hopefully not burning anything down! (more on that later!)

I Don't Know What to Say

 

So, I had to Google a writing prompt for today because I am tired and annoyed.

 

The prompt:

7 tips to make your blogging easier.

 

Is it “easier” or “more easy”?

I fucking hate grammar.

The English language is trash.

Let’s not get into the following:

Your

You’re

Too

Two

To

See

Saw

Seen

I FUCKING HATE SEEN!!

I used to be a ‘grammar Nazi’ until I realized the internet does not give a fuck about spelling, grammar, or my feelings on those subjects.

Also, I have fat thumbs that do not text well, so I am the Queen of sending a text and then doing this:

 

*from

*tits

*you

 

Because those words often get sent as:

FORM

TITA

TOU.

What can I say, my brain works way faster than my Alfred Hitchcock thumbs and I often send typos, even thought I hate them and get annoyed when other people send them.

 

Ahem.

Massively off topic.

So, onto the 7 tips to make blogging easier or more easy.

 

1.     1.   Find something to say.  I mean, DUH, but sometimes words are hard and feelings need to be locked down, which is where prompts such as this one come in handy.  Regardless of whether you use a prompt or not, you damn well better show up with something to say.  Doesn’t matter if it is profound, important, meaningful, or even interesting.  You better have something to say.

2.       2.  Pictures are helpful, but not important.  Like, I LOVE putting pictures of Ryan Gosling and Jason Momoa in my posts, but I have also done a couple of posts with no pictures – my emotions were so raw, there was no way to find a picture on Google that could have helped illustrate my point more than just the words I had to say.

I mean...you're welcome!

.      3.   Find a blogging mentor and do whatever you can to not copy their voice.  The creator of Kale and Cigarettes and Samantha Irby are my heroes.  Kirk Hensler and Samantha Irby mean everything to me when it comes to being raw and sharing shit, but I don’t want to copy their sound, I just want to be as brave and open as they are.  (PS – Google them, they are both fucking fire).  Let your mentors inspire you to honesty, vulnerability, but never plagiarism.

4.  4.       Don’t take yourself seriously.  This is good in blogging, but also life.  There is a shit ton of evidence that this experience we are all having is a simulation - https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/do-we-live-in-a-simulation-chances-are-about-50-50/ - which means you NEED to have a sense of humor about all of it.  Not one of us is going to get out of this journey as corporeal humans on earth alive, so play and have fun.

5.    5.     Use your spell-check.  I don’t always do this when I post, but you can be damn sure I do it when I come back on the 2^nd day to check my ‘stats’.  Speaking of stats, I am EXTREMELY popular in Russia.  Why is that?

6.   6.    Do not censor yourself.  We like it when you overshare and say too much and get all up in your feels.

7.       Don’t overthink things.  I just did and I came out with a very pretentious, high-handed post tonight which makes me so annoyed with myself that I want to delete every word I just typed, but I won’t because I am over 500 (makes up for last night’s under), so WINNING!

 

‘Night, ya’ll!

 PS - It is "easier".  You're welcome.

You're welcome again.

Let's Talk About Sex

Um, so...

Yeah.

You know when people say things are better than sex and you are, like, "Whhhhaaaaatt?"

Like, um, NO SUSAN, your strawberry cream-cheese bites are not 'better than sex"

Or, NO HELEN, your "seekrit fambly resoppee" broccoli casserole is not better than sex.

Like, YO, ladies...if you are having a magical gustatory experience and you claim it is better than sex then you are CLEARLY not having the right kind of sex.

Just saying...

However.

I had an experience today that - while I can honestly say it is not better than sex-  it could seriously be a suitable replacement during these uncertain times when life is all topsy-turvy and men are trash.

That experience is stretching.

About a month ago, I was shown a video of 'stretch gyms', where you go lay on a table and let someone stretch you out and apply a set of straps and giant, vibrating massagers to your muscles.

They push and pull and contort you in some very interesting ways.

Looked interesting, and - in the most ambivalent way - both relaxing and stimulating.

I promptly forgot all about it.

Until last week.

I got an email that a local 'stretch place' was offering free consultations.

I signed up.

I got stretched today.

It was fucking glorious.

Like, massages are the shit, but have you ever been stretched?

My boy Cody did a medical assessment, discussed my fitness goals, and then...

MF went right to town on my muscles.

It was fucking glorious.

I left that place glowing like a candle.

COVID has put a serious damper on my sex life, and food and booze make me fat, so they are out as coping strategies.

45 minutes of having my limbs pulled and stretched and I am a new woman.

$400 a month to get this done 2X per week?

TAKE MY MONEY.

Look, if you need a slightly transcendental experience and you don't want to take drugs or have sex with random dudes off of Tinder, then I highly recommend you call "Stretch Zone" in Vancouver and get your stretch on.

Worth every penny.

I am totally giving up sex in favor of getting stretched.

Maybe not forever, but DEFINTIELY for the next 12 weeks.

I mean, starting on Friday.

Me after 12 weeks of glorious stretch!

Hit The Road, Jack

I decided I was going to spend all of the Full Moons in 2021 near a body of water.

I spent the January Full Moon day at Wintler Park.

I had planned on spending the February Full Moon at these totally dope cabins in Stevenson, but was struck with a brain-wave (mild stroke?) to take my sulky teen and the Terrible Twins – Harlow Grey and Weston James – to the beach.

Bad idea.

Westy J. had a major meltdown when he realized he was going to be away from his Mumma – AFTER I spent 20 minutes on the phone with NASA, wrangling his car seat into my vehicle.

We decided to leave him behind and hit the road for Newport to get some Vitamin Sea, check out the tidepools, and visit the Yaquina Lighthouse.

For most of the trip Harlow chattered away in her little magpie voice, frequently entreating me to “Wook, Mimi! Wook at that!!”.

Lexi was continuously hollering at her that Mimi was too busy driving to ‘wook’, and to be quiet, to which Harlow either threatened to call the cops on her, or shoot her dead. 

 

We got to Newport, hit the beach, flew kites, drew things in the sand and watched the waves erase them.

It was gorge.

Roo and Hoho flying a kite.

 

We got to our hotel, got pizza, and then watched the sun set.

<3

It was gorge.

 

I woke up at 4am, convinced there was an offshore earthquake and that a tsunami was imminent.

Cursing myself for parking in the underground garage, I noticed the gorgeous full moon sailing over the sea, illuminating the black waves with a slick of white light.

It was gorge.

swoon

 

We got up early, I ate my trash protein bar and drank my Emergen-C while the girls feasted on donuts, fruit, and hot chocolate.

Breakfast of champions.  :(

We checked out the tide pools while Lexi harangued me about what time we were getting home so she could get online with her gamer friends.

We got to the lighthouse and Harlow immediately threw a tantrum and demanded to be taken home, an idea Lexi fully endorsed.

I threw in the towel and we headed home, never mind my plans to spend the day relaxing in the sunshine on the beach.

I could have stayed right here the entire day.

The girls demanded McDonalds for lunch, where I got front-ended in the drive-thru by a thoroughly unrepentant driver who failed to check his rearview mirror before slamming his car into reverse and slamming into my front bumper.

No damage, but the driver – who looked and sounded exactly like the dude who owned Anakin and his mom in the Phantom Menace – tried to tell me it was my fault because my white vehicle reflected the sun into his eyes.

 

We finally made it to the Heath Residence, at which point Harlow and Lexi got into a brawl over Harlow trying to keep one of Lexi’s toys; one that Lexi was unwilling to part with.

 

Leaving a screaming toddler, her whining brother behind and getting home to a shit ton of bags that needed to be unpacked, a vehicle that smelled like grease and was full of the detritus of an abortive trip to the coast (sand, McDonalds trash, fruit snack and chip wrappers), I decided that my March Full Moon trip to Stevenson is going to be entirely child-free.

 

I cannot wait.

You've Got A Friend In Me

 

One of my favorite humans had a birthday this weekend.

My Anna-Boo.

I missed her birthday because of a family beach trip ( more on that later), but I love her just the same.

We have been friends for 19 years and I decided to open this year’s “500 WAD” by celebrating her.

My last blog post was about losing a dear friend and how it hurt me.

I have lost a lot of friends in the last twelve months and some hurt, but some were such a relief.

How I lost those friends was recognizing that time had passed and the person I saw as a friend was not who they are today.

Like, I slapped a coat of concrete on who you were and tried to carry that "you" with me.

But you aren’t that person anymore, and I don’t like who you are now.

It has happened several times in the last 12 months...

So I wondered, is that me and my Anna-banana?

NOPE.

I love her.

As soon as Australia lets trash Americans in, I am sleeping on her couch – hopefully without Huntsmans, because they show up every day.

Time has passed, our children have grown, but the love I have for my girl is unending,

I was in the room when her youngest child was born, cringing on the floor so the mirror the Dr held up to show her Nick did not show me her rude bits.

I was in the airport with her as she left me, hugging her kids and saying goodbye, but I would be there soon.

I am here now, loving my girl…worried that I cant tell her enough how much I love her or how much her friendship means to me.

We have had the best times… RITA, clubs where I licked her face for cameras, watching American Idol and eating the best food.

We have had the worst times.  She has lost so many people and I have tried to be there and support her through CAMBO and Andrea and everything else.

Some friendships end because we grow and move on and become different people.

Some friendships end because this is life and this is just how things go.

Some friendships never end because this person is your person and you will never let them go.

You will always love them and be there for them and NEVER EVER let them go.

I love you, Anna-Boo.

You are the most beautiful, gorgeous, courageous, best-bicep-having, loving human I have ever known.

I am sorry I missed marking your birthday on social media, but I know you don’t care about things like that.

I am sorry I haven’t dragged Samantha down to Oz, but COVID effed that up and it’s not my fault.

Here is what I know about you:

You are strong, smart, gorgeous, able, and caring.

Here is what I know about me:

I am grateful, lucky, and so SO blessed to have you, my Anna-Boo, in my life,

 

PS – I kinda get the feeling we should be BFFs forever….or something like that.

Also, RYAN GOSLING!!!