Something Old, Something New

"What are your favorite holiday traditions? Are there new traditions you want to start?"












This was a blogging prompt from a very Christmassy list that Veronica from Grown Up Tantrums shared with me..

The face sums up my year!

There are a whole bunch of different prompts, but I chose this one, because this is the stuff that has been on my mind HEAVILY the past few weeks





Clearly, this Christmas is going to be a weird one.  It's Lexi's first Christmas without her Daddy, and his absence -- which has been pretty bad on a daily basis -- is going to be felt...




A LOT.






He always cooked Christmas dinner (a turkey AND a ham, along with his magical sides), he was the king of ridiculously expensive electronic gifts....something Mom doesn't really believe in or condone, but mainly he was there.  Usually a bit hung over from celebrating with his Legends family, but always THERE, first thing in the morning to supervise the opening of gifts, the looting of stockings, and to give and receive lots of Christmas hugs from our little Bird.


I have been struggling with keeping the Christmas spirit going in my heart, so I can make sure Lexi's first Christmas without her Daddy is still special, and I have been thinking about what new traditions we can start, to move us forward into this new Jimbo-less future.



Ahem.


CURRENT HOLIDAY TRADITIONS:
-Christmas tree from Thornton's Treeland.
  I would highly recommend Thornton's to anyone that wants a real tree.  Small, family-owned Christmas Tree farm, free coffee and hot chocolate, gift shop in a heated barn, petting zoo, hayrides, and just a really fun, quaint experience.  Perfect way to kick off the holiday season, and the perfect antidote to Daddy's fake tree. (Jim vowed to never buy a live tree again, because we got a real tree for Lexi's first Christmas, and in spite of the tree-shaking, ended up with bees AND fleas in the house that year.....and, NO, the tree wasn't from Thornton's!!)

Thornton's 2009 with Mommy

Thornton's 2016 with Auntee and Lizzie

-Winter Wonderland at PIR.  Nothing like baking some fresh chocolate chip cookies (fresh from the Nestle Tollhouse tube in my case....can't make cookies for sh!t), hitting Starbucks for Peppermint Mochas, and driving around the race track , listening to carols and looking at the lights.
Also.....
-Advent Calendars with chocolate in them.
-Making sure to watch all the Christmas Classics -- Rudolph, Frosty, Charlie Brown, A Christmas Story, and It's A Wonderful Life in the weeks leading up to Christmas.
-Reading 'Twas The Night Before Christmas in our PJs on Christmas Eve, right before bed.
-Using Daddy's shoes and flour to make Santa's footprints from the fireplace to the tree.
-Chocolate Chip cookies and hot cocoa (coffee) for pre-breakfast while opening presents, and then having Daddy's famous biscuits and gravy after.
-Mommy getting a potato in her stocking EVERY YEAR (sorry, but coal is too messy), along with a letter from Santa chastising me for the previous year's misdeeds (said misdeeds usually being alcoholism, smoking, promiscuity, or not allowing Lexi to get a pixie haircut).
-Eating a mammoth Christmas feast with everyone and then watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Scrooged, The Ref (a TRUE Christmas classic!), and all the FRIENDS Christmas episodes with Chardonnay and Christmas Chocolates.








CLASSIC!!!

NEW TRADITIONS 2016 AND BEYOND


-NO MORE SANTA
I decided over the summer (before Jimbo dipped out) that this is the last year Santa will come visit Lexi.  I already have the letter somewhat composed in my head, and I will be cribbing heavily (although not plagiarizing) from "Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus", as well as some other stuff about imagination, faith, hope, love, her dad, etc.  And, before you start judging me for lying to my child for a decade, keeping her in the dark about reality, etc, etc, etc....go fuck yourself.  There are much worse parenting fails to judge me for, so pick one of those and bugger off.  (Also, quick shout-out to my little sister for saying, aghast, when I told her my plans "Poor Lexi!  She's losing her Dad AND Santa this year?!?!!?) 
Really made me feel good about the decision!! 

Hopefully, I don't get this response!!

-GIVING MORE
Public Service/Charity has not figured heavily in my holiday traditions, aside from picking a tag off of a giving tree and buying some presents for the kid listed.  I am frantically trying to find something for Lexi and I to do this Christmas, preferably involving Veteran's, the elderly, or animals (because people are mostly shits).  It's a goal of mine this year, and one I definitely need to fulfill.


-CHRISTMAS CARDS
I really want to write out and mail cards this year--well, every year actually.  REALLLLLYYYYY BADLYYYYY.  I am DEFINITELY doing this in 2016.
So, if any of you want one, message me your address and I will you send one!


-NO COOKING
I am not cooking Christmas Dinner this year.  Instead, Lexi and I are getting dressed to the nines and having dinner out at a restaurant (or possibly the Portland Spirit-still looking at that option!)  I don't know if that will become a tradition, but it seems like a good choice for us this year.  (only wavering on Portland Spirit in case it turns into a PNW version of the Titanic....which, given my 2016 is entirely possible!!!)


Finally...and most importantly........

-FESTIVUS
Always wanted to do this, and this craptastic year is the perfect one to do so.....I am getting the pole ready, so if you want to come over and Air Grievances on 12/23/2016, call me and I will invite you!!


(If you don't know what I am talking about....1-OMG, what is WRONG with you????  2-The word 'festivus' is a link....click it and let the magic of the holiday season enter your heart.)




I have a super busy Christmas Season ahead of me, so I may not get any more blog posts in before NYE (I will definitely  be making a gleeful "Fuck Off 2016" post that evening while I am in flannel PJ's and a tiara, drinking copiously), so in case I don't see you,  here is your Christmas present--- from me to you:






You're Welcome!! 

And if you REALLLLLY need to get me something...well, go ahead!!  ;)

;)

The End Is Nigh! Or, TGID and Buh-BYE 2016!

2016 was a pretty messed up year.

I'm sure someone, somewhere had a great 2016. 

Somewhere there were promotions, new babies (more on that later--literally the one bright spot in The Great Year of Suckage is my baby niece Harlow Grey), lottery winnings, multiple orgasms, successful diets, etc....

However, in general, I think this year was one of those fulcrum years for most of us.....universe teetering on the brink of disaster, BLM, police officers murdered (and murdering), an unbelievably vile, negative, horrifying election year in the US that exposed the slimy underbelly of human nature and the tragic separation between all of us....

Yeahhhh......2016 sucked balls for me, and I couldn't be more pleased to watch the sun rise on the final month of this awful year.  Seriously, 2016 was so bad that even Fidel Mother-Fucking Castro took a powder rather than sticking around to see how this year would end. 

Mama La Pinga, 2016!!!  Dueces!

In addition to Alan Rickman

ALWAYS <3

Prince,

and Elie Wiesel

dying (YES, those were the 3 'celebrity' deaths that I actually wept over and had a hard time processing--judge away), I lost my platonic life partner, the occasional bane of my existence, and the one person that always had my 6.....My Little Roo's Daddy, James Van Geyten (more on that later as well, I am not done processing that, and will likely devote yet another blog post entirely to my buddy Jimbo).

Daddy and Roo...BFFs

Watching your child suffer through the loss of a parent is a form of torture that I really can't imagine wishing on anyone (more on that later).

So here we are, on the first day of the last month of The Great Year of Suckage, and I find myself oddly filled with hope....


I say 'oddly' because I was prepared to spend this month like Eeyore, lugubriously plodding through the days, waiting eagerly for the psychological boost to happen on 12/31/2016 at 11:59:59.  I wasn't prepared to shoot out of bed (well, roll over and grope the phone off the nightstand, but you get my point!) at 2:30 am and think, "Yesssssssssssssssss!!!!  12/1/16!  Here we go!"

But I did.....

That makes me feel pretty good, which made me smile, which released some endorphins (I'm flippin' serious, it's science!!), which made me feel even better.  Which, of course, got me thinking about how I could hang on to this feeling and, hopefully, end 2016 on a bit of a high note.  Because I used to do that....try to end everything on a high note.  I used to be irrepressibly enthusiastic.  Once, there was a Mary that -- once you got past my painfully-shy-hard-candy-shell-that-I-built-from-years-of-self-loathing -- everyone always asked (or accused) 'You were a cheerleader at some point in your life, weren't you?" 
(Answer--DUH!!!!)

I used to be really excited about a lot of things...about everything.  I used to be full of fun, fabulous advice -- now I just tell people to drink it off, walk it off, sleep it off, or.....I don't answer the phone at all. (That's mainly because Lexi killed the battery and didn't put it on the charger, though....seriously.  More on that later). 

Well, I felt like that Mary this morning.  I felt like the old me, the happy me, the me that looks at each day as a new chance to....do.....something.

Working on getting back to this.....

I don't know if the feeling will last, but I am definitely going to work on it.  I have a lot of exciting changes coming up in the next few weeks (probably not more on that later, it's all realllllyy personal you know.... not at all like the impersonal stuff I usually share here!! ;)  ).  We'll see.....

I just know that, right now, today, I feel hope.  Hope that I am doing an ok job guiding my Roo through this awful mess.  Hope that the changes I am making will turn things around for us a bit.  Hope that The Great Year of Suckage will end on a high note....or at least just fucking end quietly.  Hope that on 12/1/2017, the blog post I write will be full of all the fun, fabulous things that happened in the last 12 months, that kicked off with this surge of faith and optimism I am feeling right now.

As The Great Year of Suckage winds down, I hope all of you that didn't win the lottery, or get a fabulous promotion, or have multiple orgasms, or even just have a peaceful year, find solace in the fact that it is December 1st!  We have 31 days to wander, wade, slog, and trek through.....


AND THEN 2016 is DEAD!! 

Does the change in the calendar mean your life will change?  Maybe. Maybe not.

Will you be a different person in 2017 than you were in The Great Year of Suckage?  Probably.  We all change, we all grow, we all learn something from our mistakes....I hope, anyway! 

I just know that looking at a calendar, or writing the date, or whatever other way reminds us that it is a different year and NO LONGER The Great Year of Suckage, is going to make all the difference to me -- and that's not science, just the cycle of the moon and stars, the hubris of Julius Caesar, and the intercession (interference?) Of Pope Gregory Whatever....(If that confuses you, more on that later.....well, here, actually!)

I suppose I should have started this at night, so I could end this by telling you to raise a glass to the end of The Great Year of Suckage (just realized The Year of Great Suckage may have been the better moniker, but I am too lazy to edit beyond spell check!), and I am sure some of you would probably raise a glass anyway, I mean it IS 5:00 somewhere!  So, all I have to say to end this is as follows:

 WOOOO-HOOO!!!! 
YIPPEEE!

So glad this dreadful year is almost over!!!  Roll on 2017!

Almost!!!

Friends With Benefits - The Good Kind

Friends With Benefits.

#FWB

The phrase has entered our collective consciousness as a pal you can sleep with, no strings attached.

Friends with Benefits is a glorious, magical thing.

All the benefits of a relationship, without any of the hassle, drama, or compromise that sucks the life out of you, should you choose to yoke yourself to another person as you trudge through life.

I have had numerous FWBs in my life, but none that have meant as much to me as the father of my precious little Roo.


Before anyone gets up in arms, saying, "I KNEW IT!"----- I need to elaborate.

Lexers has (had) a Daddy.

And he was my best friend.

He was also my Friend With Benefits.  LITERALLY.

Literally, but not in the figurative (i.e., generally acknowledged) sense of that phrase.

We had all of the best qualities of a romantic relationship; shared experiences and memories with our children -- but none of the crap that comes with romance, sex, or "love".

Holidays punctuated by his amazing corn casserole (DIE, green bean casserole, you have nothing on Jimbo's magical, golden dish!), his ham AND turkey for Thanksgiving and  Christmas, and his cheesy cauliflower (cauliflower being pronounced as follows: CAWL-EE-FLOWER).

Christmas mornings with Santa leaving a potato in Mommy's stocking while leaving Roo and Daddy candy, toothbrushes, whoopee cushions, and a letter asking them to do better, try harder, and be kinder in the coming year.


The "benefits" we shared were watching our child grow together.  Being a team against Lexers' constant onslaught of deviousness.  Sharing his amazing biscuits and gravy for breakfast, making dinners with Lexi's big brother Tony and talking until the middle of the night on the front porch.

Jimbo was not my lover.  (Well, once, obvs.  Possibly even twice--DAMN YOU, Jameson!)  He was not my boyfriend for more than about 5 minutes. 

He was my buddy, my 'conscious-co-parenter', the bane of my existence at times, and so much more.

What he was....well, he was my best friend.  He was the rock I clung to when the stormy seas of my life tossed me around. 
He gave me advice. 
He got mad at me. 
He forgave me. 
He had my back all the time.  Always.

He made fun of me for watching Sex and the City ("All this show does is give cougars hope they can catch some hot young dude when that almost never happens in real life", he would growl.) 

Conveniently forgetting that most of his girlfriends/wives/fiancees--which were legion-- were all AT LEAST ten, and occasionally TWENTY YEARS YOUNGER!

He tolerated me playing 10 years worth of FRIENDS Thanksgiving episodes every year while we collaborated on a feast for our family.

He gave my niece advice, rides to school and events, and her first job as a cook in his bar.

He gave my sister advice, sarcastic criticism, a TON of shit, and a night job when she wanted to raise a down payment for a car in a short period of time.

He gave me advice, friendship, criticism, a TON of shit, and a place to call home.

Jimbo was my best friend.

We fought sometimes. 
We laughed together. 
We squabbled over lots of things. 

He spent a year ripping on Bernie Sanders, with the sole purpose of pissing me off.  I advised him DAILY that Hillary would end up being the real opponent to his CheetoColoredCottonCandy-Headed martinet of a Presidential candidate, but it irked him that my 'hippie shit' extended to a Jewish, Democratic-Socialist grandpa from Vermont, and he wouldn't let it go.

He lectured me about drinking and smoking too much (pot, meet your similarly-colored friend kettle), he lectured me about ditching my last (ridiculously moronic and pathetic) boyfriend, advising me that I "[wasn't] getting any younger" (again with the pot and kettle, yo!), and that I should think before I broke up with him and went back into the dating world 'at [my] age'--I was 37....

He totally had my back in pretty much any situation, and was always down to give me hours of unsolicited advice, peppered with 'Jimbo-isms'.

"Number one, you......number two...."
"My point is this..."
"What your don't understand is..."
"It is what it is"

And, of course, "Yeah, Yeah".   Which he said all the time.

ALL THE TIME. 

I started this #500WordsADay blog challenge last week, but couldn't go past day 2....

I'm a little busy.

Moving out of our house, boxing up all of his clothes so his kids and I can go through them later when the pain is not so fresh.

Helping my little baby bird cope with the loss of "Daddy"...her BFF...the person who took her to Chuck E Cheese (always on Tuesdays), long after I refused to set foot in there ever again.

Trying to muddle through writing obituaries, family statements, opening mail that is not mine, cancelling credit cards and bank accounts and ordering memorial shirts.....all the things you go through when someone dies on you out of nowhere....

Thing is, if it was anyone else this had happened to, my buddy Jimbo would be right behind me, lending support, advice, and being a rock for me to lean on.

And now I have no one.

Don't get me wrong, I have a terrific supportive family nearby, and Jimbo's friends have all rallied round and offered support, advice, and help.

 And it is SO appreciated.

So I don't LITERALLY have no one.

Figuratively, though, I am alone.

I am Roo's mom.

And she has no Dad. 

And I have no co-parent.

So, while I have spent the last few weeks telling everyone I am fine, and I 'got this', and I am strong enough to cope with this on my own, the truth is I am tired.

I am tired of missing my friend.

I am tired of watching the knowledge of how alone we are break over my little girls face and make her eyes fill and her chin waver every few hours.

I am tired of being patient with people when I just want to scream at them to leave me alone because my heart is broken and life -- as I have known it for the last 10 years -- is totally shattered.


I am tired of being mad.
I am tired of being sad. 
I am tired of being tired.
I am just fucking tired.

I wish I could say I feel Jimbo watching over me and lending me strength.

I wish I could say I  know everything will be okay.

I wish I could say none of this actually happened.


But...

I don't feel him.

I dream about him, sure,  just normal stuff---making spaghetti to impress yet another new girlfriend, changing light bulbs, buying WAY too much bread-- but that makes waking up even worse. 

Because none of those things will ever happen again.

Never.

I don't know everything will be okay.

I have a 9 year old little girl who lost her BFF and her partner in crime. 

I don't know how we are going to get through graduations, weddings, or any other major life event without her loud, gravelly-voiced, opinionated father directing the show.

I don't know how to make him real for his 3 kids or 2 grandchildren...How to tell them how much he loved them, how to teach the babies all the things he would want them to know about him, and how to make them understand what a vibrant, interesting, caring, and thoughtful person they came from....(they all look just like him, too!)

This happened, though. 

It's real.

It's a 'thing'.

My best friend (actually, he was TONS of people's best friend -- it was just how he rolled) is gone. 

My friend with benefits (the good, true, lasting benefits) is gone.

And I just don't really know what's next....

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

"A time you lied"

Interestingly enough, I lie every single day…to me.

'A time".

That is singular.  Oops.

I lie and say I am too old and fat and too much of a hippie to care that I am old and fat.  But I care.  Not enough to put down the new Reese's Pieces-Stuffed Peanut Butter Cups, but I do care.

I lie and say I am fine. 

And I am not fine. 

My baby girl's dad died 3 weeks ago tonight and I am forced daily to watch her struggle and fight through the grief at the loss of her BFF -- they were seriously the best pals -- and try to make arrangements and tie up loose ends, all the while assuring everyone I am fine when I cannot even take 5 minutes to process the death of my roomie, my BFF, and my obnoxious co-parent because I have to run around worrying about 'offending' people or making people feel 'left out' when all I am trying to do is get this shit tied up and closed out as quickly and cleanly as possible-- for my daughter and for her siblings who are broken as well.

I lie and say I WILL NOT smoke another cigarette today.

I lie and say TOMMOROW I will get up at 5 and exercise.

I lie and say I am okay with being alone and self-sufficient when deep down I really wish I could turn to someone and say 'Please help me with this, I can't manage this on my own'. 

I lie and say that I will change.  That I will take up yoga to calm my restless brain (and tone my chubby form), even though I always topple over and worry about farting during Child's Pose like the person in front of me inevitably does.

I lie and say I will not lose my patience; I will be softer and kinder and allow people in.

A time that I lie is when I am awake. 

When there is another thing to check off the list. 

When there is another person insisting I clean up their mess because I have a job and some discretionary income and a little bit of logic, so OF COURSE I should drop everything and go rescue them from the same self-inflicted crap they created by being thoughtless and careless and living champagne lives on a Boone's Farm income.

The best thing about #500WordsADay is that, when I write this stuff, it flows organically and then I go back to revise and edit and learn things about myself that I didn't know, or gain insights I hadn't seen.

I think what I learned from this one is that I am doing myself a major disservice by lying to myself.

I think this was a good way to look at my lies and expose them to the light.

I hope I have the courage to do that.

And I hope that last sentence wasn't another lie.

The Last Time You were Happy For A Week Straight

So, we dusted off the #500WordsADay experiment again.

I never finish these, but I am going to try this time, I figure I can do almost anything for ten days.

Not sure if we were supposed to address the prompts in order, but this one resonated, so here goes.

When I saw the prompt for being happy a week straight, I laughed and vowed to skip.

Over it.

I just don't think 'happy' is in my DNA.

Then, a 'memory' popped up on Facebook. 

I almost didn't re-post it, but I stopped to look at it and think.

I am not one of those people that 'peaked' in high school---at least I hope the fuck not. You know who I mean....the people you run into when you visit your hometown that call their buddies by their last names, and reminisce about the missed (or made) field goal in playoffs…

However, that picture made me really think and remember a few times in my life when I was genuinely happy. 

Don't get me wrong, I have had multiple transcendent moments in my life....moments where I felt entirely rooted in this universe, moments where I felt I belonged, and moments where love blazed through me so thoroughly, that I felt incandescent.

They are/were 'moments', though.

A week?

I looked at that picture---which to me is like one of those "What does not belong" pictures we were given in elementary school.

In high school, we lived in an apartment.  The Gold Exchange and Sadie's were within a mile. Walking distance if you were drunk, which my mother always was.

I was a Ridge Kid.  Raised in the trees and dirt.  We had solar panels and kerosene lamps not electricity. 

We had pots and the wood stove not a water heater. 

There was an outhouse. 

When I decided I wanted to be a cheerleader, my mother and older sister mocked me, and my dad told me to try for what I wanted.

I did fundraiser after fundraiser...selling chocolate and magazines, because the welfare check would pay for rent and beer, but never my heart's desire.

Cheer camp. Sunburned, shouting until I was hoarse, joining in with hundreds of other girls who jumped and squealed and shouted and danced. Happy.

It wasn’t a full week, it was 5 days, but the happiness remains. 

It was good.

And those girls...

 Doctor's daughters,  girls who got tucked in, and girls who were taken to Sunrise Mall for school clothes (not Cheryl's Clothes Closet-the local thrift store) accepted me. 

They took me in and loved me, even though their socio-economic status said they shouldn’t.

They should have shunned me and dumped buckets of pigs blood on my head, or bribed the quarterback to ask me to prom and not shown.

Their religion told them I was not their kind. 

Their money told them I didn't fit in.

Their perfect clothes and shiny hair and orthodontia told them I was different.

But a week made us sisters. 

And then they were there for me.

Always.

My little girl lost her daddy a few weeks ago, and a couple of them have had that happen to them in the last 3 years, reached out with love.

The two most devout and dedicated to their religion have always been there for me.

Always.

It wasn't 7 days, but it was a week.

And I was happy.

Every. Fucking. Day.

Words About Ideas About What's Next

There is this writing experiment I am doing.


It is actually causing some major evaluating of my life.

All Mary's are wise and profound..it's axiomatic!

I can't help but notice that I am having more ideas - a project I have been hacking away at for years is now swimming right along.

It feels good.  To find paths where there were none.  To find words and ways where there was only self-doubt and roadblocks.

Also, I have started noticing things.  Little things, but they have made me sit up and take notice and review where I am and what I am doing with my time.

I work.  I have a job.  It is neither career nor calling, though I honestly felt I was going to do some good when I started it a year ago. 

I don't feel that way anymore, and I would desperately love to be doing something that makes a difference in this world.

Punching a clock, logging 40, dotting the 'i's' and crossing the 't's', or vice versa, is not enough.

Not by a long shot.

Every day, after reading as many blog posts as I have time for, I fall asleep thinking about what I really want to do with the rest of my life.  I can tell you right now, that what I am currently doing is not it.


I read all these tales on #500WordsADay and they make me want to do more...to be more, actually. 

Such as:

I have always wanted to do yoga; always.  I went to yoga, like, 5 times with my sister, and I hated it.  Well, actually, I liked some of it, but because I was friends with the yoga instructor's husband on FB, I was aware that she was a violent, crazy, chaotic person....and I couldn't relax in her studio--not a bit.

Also, I have bad wrists and a tendency to fall down.....so that didn't help in my yoga practice either.

I definitely want to be doing something that benefits other people, and not just The Man.  I feel unbelievably shallow right now, and I hope I don't sound like some vapid beauty contestant, but I really want to work with either the elderly or animals. 

Or maps.....I could do something about map awareness.

Uuuuuugggggggggghhhhh!!!  I want so badly to delete that. 

It sounds super shallow right?  I actually mean it.  I think about the elderly a lot.  I wonder what they think when they go to a restaurant and see a family not interacting, but all tied up with some device.  I wonder what they think of global warming and gun violence and reality TV.  Seriously.

I need to take a writing class because I wrote a screenplay and this agent actually cared enough to write back and tell me that I didn't have a good feel for dialogue. 

Which is interesting  given that I have more conversations than anyone.

Anyway, I am super restless.....we'll see where this goes.

Good Enough

I am doing a 30 day writing experiment....


As part of the deal, I read all these posts by these amazing bloggers, get crazy inspired, and then I log into my own blog and I just....BLAH!

These bloggers are out living life, being yoga instructors, and in Kurt's case, eviscerating themselves daily, in the name of art.

Meanwhile, I am over in the corner, fooling around with font colors and posting pictures of Ryan Gosling.  I feel like I showed up in the Hamptons driving a 1993 Ford Escort, while wearing something from Jaclyn Smith for Kmart Collection to Donatella's annual bash....

Just.
Not.
Good Enough.

In my 20s, I was obsessed with Sarah McLachlan.

I played her CD all the time in my car, in my house, on any jukebox that had it.

And my favorite song was "Good Enough".

That song spoke (speaks) to me.

Am I Good Enough?

No, says my inner critic.

Not good enough to have a real relationship with an adult.

Not good enough to have someone love me for me.  People love me for what I do for them (says inner critic).  And that is all.

Not good enough to get published.

Not good enough to get an agent.

Not good enough to.....well, everything.

That is the story I have been telling myself my whole fucking life.

YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

So, when I log onto my Facebook, and  see all these magical writers and yoga instructors, and filmmakers and photographers posting some MAJORLY profound shit, while I am posting about being a fat, old, boring spinster--accompanied by #bluntcards and #RyanGosling pictures, I have to tell myself that I should just stop.

My shit is just not good enough, 

Who cares if I am single and still halfway in love with the only person who has ever dumped me and not returned?

Who cares that I am obsessed with Ryan  Gosling? 

Who cares if I hate technology and have not turned my cell phone on in 2 months?

Who cares if I read Beka's blog or Kate's blog or Joslyn's blog or Vanessa's blog and wish I was as deep and profound and fucking real as they are every single day??

No one.

No one cares.

And all the Ryan Gosling pictures in the world won't make me real.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, the only thing that makes me real is loving myself.

And I don't do that so much...

But I am trying.  This experiment is making me write more--I have a short story collection that I am barreling through after every post.

So maybe, just maybe, this experiment is helping me become 'Good Enough'.

Or maybe that is another story I am telling myself.

If that ends up being the case, there is always wine. 

And that, my friends, is 'Good Enough' for me.