Shook

Shook.

It's a buzzword for being shaken up…very disturbed.

I have been through too much to get 'shook' easily.

However....

When someone you love has a medical crisis, it has a way of isolating your thoughts and rendering you 'shook'.

My parents had a medical crisis in the Summer of 2017, and I drove 10 hours down to CA as soon as I could, trying to manage it.

My older brother, who is friend, brother, and quasi-father-figure has a health-crisis that has me on Google constantly, trying to find ways to help.

If you read this blog on the regular, you know how Lexi and I lost Jimbo very suddenly in the Summer of 2016.  You probably have inferred that I inherited his nearest and dearest, and that helped Lexi and I navigate the treacherous waters of our loss in the days/weeks/months after it happened.

I have always known that H was Jim's soul brother.  He had a ton of friends, most more like family.  He loved H as a brother, though.

He sent my little sis to H when she was ready to buy her first car, and H took good care of her.

After his passing, H went far toward filling the gap of 'Big Daddy' to our group.

He is always there.  Responsible, full of advice, and always funny.

Now H is having his own health issues.

H dispenses wisdom, gives advice, and throws a blanket over any drunk that happens to crash on the couch after too much booze one New Year's Eve -- or maybe that's just me.

His wife, C, is our Earth Mama.  

She calls us out on our bullshit without being crass or offensive.

She gives out raw, take-no-prisoners truths when we try to hide behind our own bullshit.

I love them both so much.

Now that H is vulnerable and unwell, I have to give thanks for the fact that I even have them in my lives.

I have to give thanks that H is doing well and recovering as well as anyone can expect to be doing after his ordeal.  

I have to give thanks for my friends.

It’s got me ‘shook’ to know that someone that means so much to me is having such a hard time.

Get shook.

Wake up.

We are so fragile…humans, that is.

We take so much for granted in our daily lives – it’s crazy!

Every moment should be precious; Every. One.

One would think, after losing BD so precipitously, that I would be all about ‘seizing the day’, but sadly I get bogged down in the minutiae as often as I used to.

I suggested C and H ‘just breathe’ together post-surgery, but I haven’t taken that advice.

Life is short and precious, and days when you worry about your loved ones are long and difficult.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

And wait for the day you can sit down and eat terrible tacos with your friend so he can play pool on the good tables.

Happy Birthday!  Don't take it personally that your wife is looking like she wants to kiss me!!  ;)

Mutton Dressed As Lamb, Part 2. - I Am Too Old For This Shit

Post sock-rocket-guy, totally shook, we enter Dirty and go to the bar.

Need a calming cocktail, stat.

Watching one dude bust a sock full of rocks against some guy’s side and then get beat down makes one thirsty…but not THIRSTY, you know what I mean?

Ahem.

Like I said - $10 for well liquor.

Gross.

I was a bartender/cocktail mattress for about 11 years collectively, so I am not a cheap drinker but, I MEAN!

$10 for well, I had best be getting some entertainment.

Sadly, no.

In fact, the three of us practically-senior-citizens were getting more than our fair share of attention from the little wigger contingent in the club.

A sea of well-dressed, uncoordinated children, woodenly lurching around to Drake and Migos.

We settled for a table by the dance floor so we could watch the truly awful bump-and-grind from the cracker 22-year olds on the dance floor, while we turnt it up tableside.

Sorely tempted to dance, just because dancing is life, I hesitated, sipping my drink and checking on my kid through the medium of Messenger.

C and T did the same.

You can find me in the club, mommin up while drinkin bub...

Wait, WHAT?

The club filled fairly quickly, and then our tableside dancing became a point of contention to some people that did not appreciate old white ladies with their tatas half-exposed, shakin it like salt-shakers.

Since the DJ was unable to produce some Nicki or Sicko Mode for us, we left.  We Ubered (is that an adjective now??) the three blocks back to the car, since none of us had dressed for 30 degree weather with -2000 wind-chill.

We drove back to Vantucky and stopped by Brickhouse to pick up the most HILARIOUS boys ever.

Did you know it was possible to have no game on Bumble?

If you call a lady...well, a lady..you have NO GAME!

Also, you get in trouble for drifting in a neighborhood with an HOA.

Things old ladies don't know...

We ended up at Cascade Tavern, eating grease, playing pool, and commiserating with people around the fire pit about the inequities of Portland's nightclubs.

Note - apparently, if you wear a reindeer onesie to go bar hopping, you are a VIP.

Also, when squeezing through a crowd, if you accidentally brush up against a breasticle.... prepare to get knocked the fuck out.

Good to know...

I was ready to go home, but apparently everyone else needed to go do karaoke until the cows came home.

Being a cow myself, and quite ready to go home – I bounced.

Deuces, toddlers!!

I collected my child from the sitter, drank a bottle of sparkling Dasani (lime, as if you care), put on some fluffy PJs, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

10 years ago, I would have been drinking, karaoking, and …well….un entertaining until dawn.

When dawn hit on Sunday, I had a pour-over Verona with cream and cinnamon in one hand, and a book in the other.

#Winning

Mutton Dressed As Lamb Part 1.

I went out on Saturday.

Like, OUT, out.

Not meeting up for after work drinks or Taco Tuesday, but full-on, dress-up, try-and-fail-to-apply-fake-lashes out.

C is turning 40 on Tuesday, and we decided to go to DXV.  Unfortunately, DXV was booked, so we settled for CCS and got to sort-of watch drag queens for a bit. (sort of, because the dance floor is the stage, so we could barely see from the back of the room)  We did, however, enjoy thong-and-roller skate guy, golden hot-pants guy, and swipe-your-card-guy (see below) who kept the waistband of his pants a good three inches below the top of his….um…intergluteal crevice (I just used that phrase 2 days ago, I hope it doesn’t become a habit!).

After CCS, we decided to go to Ds.  Line was too long and downtown PDX was like a freezer but with festive arctic wind effect, so we gravitated to the bar across the street with the tented entrance and propane heater sending off a welcoming glow. 

As we were waiting to get in, having our cover generously covered by some gentleman, we noticed this fella giving the cashier an utterly psychotic stare.  He stood a foot away, eyes locked on her, completely ignoring the 6’6’ 300+ bouncer politely asking him to move along.  Another bouncer came out, grabbed Starey by the elbow and encouraged him to leave, asking him what he wanted as he was met with resistance.

What do I want??  What do I want??”, he asked as he slid his hand inside his jacket and started pulling something out….

No lie, I dropped straight down to the ground, heart racing.

After about three seconds, I peer over and see that he has a sock filled with some very heavy objects, and as more bouncers approach him, he begins swinging it around until –THWACK – I don’t know where he hit that bouncer – arm, shoulder, side - -but it wasn’t enough.  Within seconds that dude was being picked up and slammed down on the pavement, each bouncer taking turns, until it was clear there was no fight left in him. 

I am fairly certain that I yelled, “Hey!” really loud when he first started swinging, because merely one block away were about 7 of Portland’s finest, removing barricades from the street.  No dice.  They certainly didn’t hear me yell, and they definitely did not notice the 6 on 1 taking place in the middle of the street just south of them. 

We all kind of stood there stunned, and then C walked up and said, “Okay, I think I want to go back to Vancouver.”

Instead, we decided we may as well go in and check it out, certainly we needed a drink after that display.

Said drink costs $10.  Vodka/soda/lemon in a red solo cup = $10….ummmmm.  Maybe we should have gone back to Vancouver.  

Three 40-ish women in a hip-hop club full of 20ish white kids who didn’t know how to dance?

What could be more fun?

I soooooo wanted to put things down the back of that kid's pants, but not anything I would need back!!

Growing a Meat Beard - Or The Thing I Have In Common With Vince Vaughn

I am obsessed with double chins.

I catch myself looking at people’s neck area everywhere I go.

Every time I see someone with a double chin, I feel a brief thrill of solidarity – my people!!

I generally tend to avoid mirrors but find myself checking my reflection numerous times a day, scoping out my new meat beard.

I have always been a bit jowly; kind of like Minnie Driver, although nowhere near as attractive.  There has always been a tiny…bubble?..I don’t know the term. 

Not a turkey wattle – although I feel like that is in the queue-- more like an uninflated vocal sack? 

Anyway, there was always a bit of softness there. ‘But the actual second chin is a new phenomenon.

I have gained 40 pounds in the last twelve months.

Not there yet, but it feels like it!

The last 10 pounds I have packed on seemed to have come with a free fanny-pack for my throat and it is on my mind constantly.

The Monday after the Oscars, I went scrolling through all of the photos from the event and afterparties, looking for celeb double chins.  The double chins I found were not met with the same sense of solidarity as, say, when I find one on your Aunt Janet at Target.  How could they be when there were 23,000 worth of Winston diamonds reflecting rainbows of light across the sagging chin of a millionaire?  Definitely not ‘my people’!

I have Googled ‘why do I have a double chin’, ‘how to get rid of a double chin’, and a variety of diets – Keto! Whole30! Mediterranean! – designed to reduce body fat, and thus send my throatee back to the netherworld from whence it emerged.

(Side note: I also remembered one of my mother’s more flamboyant friends, standing in our living room, advising someone – surely not my 8-year-old self, definitely not my 90-lb mother, and hopefully not my teenaged sister – that giving blow jobs was the best way to prevent or get rid of a double chin.  Lest anyone was in doubt of her meaning, she very graphically mimed the, er, activity. Not sure how I feel about that right now in regards to my double chin, but the thought is out there - yikes.)

So, this is my reality right now.  It’s not my favorite thing, and I have definitely been working on it the last few days, but it is definitely making my life uncomfortable.  Every picture I take at every event, I try to position my head just so, and I furiously delete my photos if I am not happy with the fat scarf showing up. 

I am working on it, though.

I know that diet and exercise are the key to losing weight, and hopefully losing my face extension, so I emptied my fridge and cupboards of anything that could contribute to me gaining or maintaining this weight.

I ‘exercised’ last night – more on that tomorrow – and I have been doing weird exercises to tighten the flab there.

About the BJ’s?

I’ll keep you posted.

Haven't exactly started shopping here, but I haven't ruled it out!

F*ck Your Foot Fetish, Feet Are Awful

This is what alllllll feet are in my head.  NO.

Guys...

I hate feet.  Seriously.

Feet are sooooo gross.

I very much appreciate the appendages at the ends of my ankles.

I appreciate how they bear me up.

I appreciate how they bear up when I force them into flat-footed Converse for several hours. (I have super high arches, so wearing my beloved Converse is agony.)

I appreciate how they deal with me wearing 4, 5, 6,-inch heels, because being 5'3" is a curse.

But feet are gross:

Toe jam.

Athlete's foot.

Nail fungus.

Also, feet stink 

LITERALLY STINK.

Have you ever had someone take their shoes off in front of you and wanted to puke??

I have.

There are all kinds of products to make feet better:

Foot scrub.
Heel cream.
Pedicures.
Gel insoles.
Odor Eaters.

I don't think I had a problem with feet until the third grade when I started competing in track meets.

I got home at night, proudly displaying my red and blue 'first and second place' ribbons and noticed that my feet smelled like dirt and burned eggs.

Yuck.

When I dated the soccer player, I noticed his feet smelled like boiled eggs and manure.

Didn't stop me from having his baby, but MAN!!!  24 years later and my eyeballs still hurt.


I never thought about my feet, besides keeping them scrupulously clean, until a friend invited me to get a pedi.


Foot-soak in warm salt water, foot massage, toenail painting.  Someone voluntarily kneading and rubbing and touching my feet.

EW!

Blurgh!

Soooo gross.

DO NOT TOUCH MY FEET!

 I literally cannot imagine touching feet for a living.

Like, AT ALL.

I would, legit, rather give Robert Kraft a handy than touch his (or your) feet.


I read a book where the protagonist hated her feet being touched and I was, like, DUH!!

*PREACH, SISTER!*

FEET ARE GROSS!



Feet are like....well...gosh, I hate saying this....

Feet are like, um....well, the intergluteal cleft.

Useful, but also gross.

The only time I like feet is when I am at the beach.  That is the only time I will go barefoot (I wear socks in bed, whether I am solo or not), besides the shower, obvs.


The only time I appreciate having feet is at the ocean.  Other than that, they are something to be  managed -- exfoliating, clipping, lotioning (because 'moist'urizing is a barfy word!).


Clearly I would prefer to have  feet - the alternative is unthinkable - but why are feet so weird and gross?

Toenails??

Toenails are so icky.

And woe betide any man who clips his toenails in front of me (or outside the bathroom).

I have been told repeatedly that I have body dysmorphia, so I can't help but wonder if my foot aversion is part of this...

After all, I am sure there are may people who never even think about their feet.

Just like there are people who think about feet allllllll the time.

How do people with foot fetishes DO THIS??

Like, you put a toe in your mouth??

Ummm, no.

100

So, I noticed the other day that my blog was getting an inordinate amount of hits -- and I haven't posted in weeks.

Again, it is the Russians -- alert Mueller!

Anyway, I noticed that I have posted 99 blogs...which means THIS ONE is the 100th.

Kind of momentous, no?

Actually, NO.

In 4 years, I have posted 100 times, which means I am a HUGE slacker -- do the math yourselves, I am too fat and tired to do it on my own..

For fun, let's compare then and now....



Four years ago, I had just moved back from California.  

I was: skinny, tan, happy, single, living with Jim in a mutually-satisfying very platonic, co-parenting sitch.  I was in love with one person, somewhat enamored with another one that I was having semi-regular sex with, and totally OK with the whole thing.
.
I was working somewhere I hated.  I was doing the best I could with Lexi, I had some really good friends that I never saw, and I was obsessed with Ryan Gosling.

Fast forward 4 years...

I am: 
Fat. 
Pasty. 
Prone to random anxiety attacks where I feel like my heart is simply going to BURST in my chest.  It happens when I have too much coffee on an empty stomach in the morning, but it is AWFUL!  I have never had them before 2016, and I literally WOULD NOT wish them on my worst enemy,

Still in love with one person.  Gratefully broken free from the other (sorry, TC, but it HAD to happen!)

I LOVE MY JOB.  I have the best tribe of friends, near AND far.  Ryan Gosling has been replaced with a Jason Momoa obsession that is somewhat troubling. (Paying $200 just for a pic with him next month, yo - can we SPELL 'desperate spinster'?)

Also, I now have 2 of the most ridiculously adorable, snuggly, silly, fluffy babes in the world to love on.  My little sister -- who is my best friend, my biggest advocate, and the most real critic of calling me about on the HEAPS of bullshit I use to obfuscate the real world about my life, had 2 babies in 16 months, and widened the joy in my heart by 2,000,000%. If I didn't have my little Harlow Grey Evelyn, I may not have made it thought the summer of 2016.  

Because of this:

Biggest change ever is that I don't have my wing man.
My "got-your-six".

And my daughter has no father.

I am a single mom. so I guess I join the ranks of a lot of women whose children have no father.
The problem is that he was her BFF, her co-conspirator against my no-TV-no-sugar-no-electronic lifestyle.  
Lexi and Daddy were partners in crime, and just had the most special bond ever.

Lexi's dad left us forever in 2016, and it is the biggest thing that has happened in my life besides the births of my 2 children and the death of my BFF my Junior year in high school, and the birth of Harlow Grey and Weston James.

I don't think I have fully been able to process losing my BFF.  And I know my little girl has not, although we are both trying mightily.

So, yes, I am super different now than I was the day I started this whole mess...

And I do mean MESS.

I have had employers tell me how much they loved this blog...like, WHAT??  I literally wrote about all of my drug-addled experiences, not to mention my raging promiscuity.

I have had my favorite child (not Lexi, FYI) call me out on my sex life (EW!) after reading this.

I have had good friends analyze me based on what I share here; ummm, NO, I am not "afraid" of my feelings, I just don't have any!  Deal with it.

I have had family members chastise me or try to make me feel guilty for sharing my truth.

Through it all, I have found it is really fun to write, get my thoughts out, and share things that I have had people (not the Russians, obvs) tell me resonated with them.  (Although I DO wish you would comment on the blog and not PM me, as comments help with the monetizing side! HUGE hint)

Anyway, I legit do not have anything special to report on this 100th blog.

I am still me.

I am still writing and working and struggling to be the best version of myself.

I fail daily.

I don't always measure up to the person I ask myself to be when I wake up in the morning.

The thing is this...

I am still here.

I am still doing my best, even when I fall short of my own expectations.

Here is where I am today.

I love my friends.

I love my tribe -- a group of powerful, crazy, hilarious people that came to me as a direct result of losing Jimbo.

I love my girls from NUHS....so much, and can't wait until 2023 when we are all together again.

I love my family, even the ones I can't even begin to comprehend.

I love my job, .  It makes me mad, sad, crazy, and tired, but I always find one person every day to interact with that reminds me why this is the best thing ever,

I love my girls.

I love....well, you know who you are.

I love Jason Momoa's abs and pecs and biceps.

I don't actually love myself, but I am working on that SUPER hard every day.

So, on this momentous (or not so much) blog post, all I can say is this:

I love.

Lots and lots of people and things, and that really is pretty frickin' awesome.


<3

Also, this.  Because why not??

Somewhere Between "New Year, New Me', and "Same Shit Different Day"

It's the end of what has felt like the longest year in living history,

Literally.

People, how long has this year been??

It actually feels like 2018 has been 365 YEARS long.

A whole shit ton of stuff happened this year, and it felt like it took forever to happen.

I had friends get married, have babies, have affairs, get divorced, separate, get back together, inherit money, lose their job, and basically every major life event that you could possibly imagine.

All of that happened to a variety of people in my life.

None of that happened to me though, because I was too busy in 2018 to have a life.

TOO BUSY.  TO HAVE A LIFE.

When people tell me I should get more sleep, it makes me very stabby!!

How is that even a thing?

I barely noticed as the days and weeks and months slipped by, that I wasn't doing very many of the things I normally do at certain times of the year.  I wasn't doing very much of ANYTHING that I normally do.  I was running all over the place, doing tons and tons of STUFF, but not getting any of my stuff done.

I don't exactly understand why I never say no to people, or why I feel the need to be the first person to bat if I see life throw a fastball at a friend.  I have had multiple friends and family members tell me why THEY think I do this, and their answers are always plausible, but they don't exactly ring true with me enough where I can say, "A-HA! You nailed it.  Soooo, if I simply do X instead of Y, I will be able to completely change a lifetime habit??  Thanks, bro".

All I know is, that in spite of posting on 12/30/17, that 2018 was going to be the year I focused on myself and my girls, it actually wasn't at all.

This is getting a little old!

I think I saw Erica, like, 5 times.  (Not minimizing the epic awesomeness of our brunch at Salty's, kiddo, it was the greatest)  I know I palmed Lexi off on friends and family too many times to count, just so I could do stuff that was not MY stuff. 

Not that I have any regrets - besides getting fat(ter).  I kind of did that on purpose (more on that later).

I had sooooo much fun with my friends this year, and I really don't regret any of the times I dropped everything and stepped in to help somewhere.  I love my friends, I am soooo lucky for all of the amazing people in my life, and I love that I was able to spend so much time with everyone I spent time with.  I even think I made "Taco Tuesday" once or twice, which is a major win for me.


However, it has become abundantly clear to me that, unless I calm the fuck down and just insist on creating a life and a schedule that works for me, my quality of life is going to continue to leave me frazzled, overwrought, and slightly cranky.  Actually, there is nothing slight about my crankiness at this point.  I have lately come to notice that my usual happy, freewheeling-within-boundaries, chill personality has been taken over by this guy:

Sooooo, am I going to become a new person just because of some dates on a calendar?  Probably not.  However, I see no reason not to dive into the tide of optimism, hope, and energy that accompanies this particular time of the year.  There are some things I really want to change, and it seems the most advantageous to embark on those changes at a time when the zeitgeist of this time of year is at its peak.  I have discussed the things I want to do with people I know will (lovingly) hold me accountable, and I am going to jump in with both feet and see if I can address some things that need addressing.

Onto the elephant in the room.  

I am still single.

I am pretty sure I mentioned a few times over the course of this year that it was time for me to saddle up and find a cowboy to ride...with!  I meant with!

Didn't happen.

I kind of thought it was going to for about 5 minutes, but that was a naw.
THEN, something very...strange happened in the spring (not telling)-- I say 'happened', as if I was not a very active orchestrator, chuh! --  that made me realize there was no real reason for me to get involved with anyone, and one very big reason why I shouldn't.

Having decided that, without actually declaring it to the many interested parties (seriously, I get nagged at least once a week for still being single.  Just the other night, my little sister raised her eyebrows at me and said, "You really need to settle down."  I just was, like, "Nah, I'm good."  Didn't go over well), I must have figured the best way to deal with what happened in the spring, and the surest way to make sure I absolutely will not submit myself to the agony of a billion first dates, I got fat.

I wasn't aware of the psychology of why I stopped preparing meals at home and started eating at restaurants and turning Door Dash into my daily meal service (seriously, the amount of money I gave to them this year is obscene -- it literally disgusts me.), but in hindsight, I can see where I literally put a barrier (of fat, yes, but a barrier all the same) between me and the opposite sex, which gives me a perfect excuse to stay single for, like, ever.

Anyway, I am fine with being single; seriously.  I am not so fine with being fat, though, so sorting that out is priority at this point.

As far as the poor, unwitting schmuck I trick into kickin' it with me until 2059...I am sure he is out there somewhere, probably drunk, or maybe just spending New Year's Eve feeding his goats and chickens out in Amboy, waiting for me to show up in his yard. (inside joke)  Do I think 2019 is the year I will finally get my sister off my case about my spinsterhood?  I don't really know, and it's not really that important to me...at this point, I just want to acually enjoy my life.

Right now, that is good enough for me.

Don't worry Neo, your real mom is coming soon!!

I hope all of you have a very wonderful evening celebrating the close of the year, just do it safely, please, so you are all still here when the sun rises on a new, hopefully better, year.

At midnight, when all of my friends are wrapped in each other's arms, locking lips, I will be wrapping my lips around a bottle of Jameson, so I have that going for me....

xoxoxox



PS - Go watch Aquaman, please, so that Hollywood will sign JM in allllllll the shirtless movies in 2019!