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I’m in my third decade of life. I have a yard, a spouse, a job, two pets, and a car that (for some reason) I am entrusted to drive. I recently voted, and I have opinions about cooking but still continue to eat to stay alive. When I mentioned I had to go buy coffee, because the kettle I use to boil water died today, she said, “It’s still surprising to me to have to pay for things like that,” and I agreed that I too might never get used to being an adult.

A grown ass woman, I still bawl my eyes out every time I read my retreat letters.

Over 10 years ago, the weekend of my 18th birthday, I went on a retreat. Some people lovingly, and some not-so-lovingly, referred to it as a cult. However, no Kool-aid was consumed, and we didn’t stay in a bunker underground. Those who planned the retreat had obviously been before, but the majority of us were new.

I won’t include all the details, primarily because I don’t remember all of it. But also, because I don’t want to spoil it. I’m nowhere near the same person I was back then that day, but I still feel the magic. That feeling you get when you realize someone you don’t know very well or haven’t seen in a long time, thinks of you or remembers you. When I fondly review these notes, lovingly touch the paper of those who wrote them, I remember the minor or major relationships I had/have with those people. Some of them disappointed me, some of them surprised me, and all of them cared some degree about me.

A couple of the people who wrote the letters have left this earthly world. A few others are from mentors who are retired or retiring soon. Two are from my parents, one from my mom who was annoyed that she didn’t have more time to tell EVERYONE in our family to write me a letter. A couple of my friends from another school went on a similar retreat the same weekend and received letters from me. Maybe they still have them, although I’ve never remembered to ask.

If you read the contents of the envelopes it may not mean much to you, but they mean the world to me. For the last few weeks, I’ve felt a desire to purge my life of all the material possessions that no longer bring me joy (which has begun to feel like everything), and many rooms in my house have piles of junk that used to be treasure. A few things could still become someone else’s treasure, but most of it is chewed up by the passage of time.

I can’t tell you what to do with your life. Whether you should spend or save or take a vacation or quit your job. What I will say is that there are more people than you even know whose memory you pass through from time to time, and a select few that dearly love you. There are those who have been heartbroken by you and those who broke your heart. Certain souls have your imprint on their life. Maybe there are even souls who have lived several lives with you in them. And human beings remember the most random shit that you can’t remember about yourself that would make you guffaw.

Whatever you discard in your world, I urge you to hang on to something like this. I have about 3-4 actual things from my grandmother and a handful of her letters. I can tell you, I’d much rather have her words and pictures that the whole house full of material things she left behind when she stepped out.

Keep the memories. I mean, you should probably still have some clothing, shelter, and food, but keep the stuff that matters. Keep the ones who matter.

What I’m really thinking


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I couldn’t sleep because of what I’ll now just refer to as my Trilogy of Sad (Pain, Anxiety Depression…it just sounds cooler when I refer to it as a trilogy, as if people saw the first one in the theater and were so in awe that they had to catch the second and third editions. Except no one would ever go back for these, because they suck ass), so I decided to go downstairs and search for entertainment.

My cousin re-posted this amazing series of twitter posts that tell a short story, and I’m going to tell it to you now. I love this exotic 140 character language, and normally you can say everything in one succinct tweet. But every once in awhile, a worthy novella rises like a phoenix. This is that novella.

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My cousin laughed so hard she cried. You probably read that and at least chuckled or are mildly horrified and amazed that someone would live this way. And yet…

Here’s my take. I finished this story and immediately said aloud, “THIS IS EVERYTHING.” This is 100% how I live my life. Now, I don’t mean that I’m dying of dysentery and walk around each day with poop in my purse. I mean that my anxiety eats at me every single day about little things. Sure, I chuckled, but it was was more like, “Ohhh man, this is soooo me. This is like the crazy shit I do every day personified by like a thousand (because literal feces).”

I will illustrate to you a day in my life.

  1. I am in a neutral or, let’s be honest, elevated state.
  2. A thing happens. Really, it could be anything that agitates, but something upsets the delicate balance. Like poop not flushing.
  3. I freak out; debate how to resolve said thing.
  4. I freak out some more.
  5. At this juncture, it’s been too long and I need to react in a way that is responsible and wise. I make a decision and hope that it’s the best one.
  6. It’s not, and the second I do it, I’m already regretting. The moment passes, but the decision sticks in a bad way as I replay in my mind a thousand times how I could’ve made a different decision. Or how angry I am that I still can’t come up with anything else and try to push it away.
    or the alternative to this, that I make a decision but then can’t remember if I made it in the first place, and pray I made one. Did I do that thing I was supposed to do? Did I? Am I really sure? Is there a way to check and not look like I’m checking?
  7. Repeat infinity about everything.
  8. Friend or family member says something nice to me. No, I think. No good here. Only poop.
  9. General meltdown ensues.
  10. Try to forget this thing ever happened, and attempt to hide feelings from world. 

And the worst part is, I know I’m not the only one who feels that way on a daily basis. Maybe you read that story and my reaction and are noddingOr perhaps were reminded of someone you know.

I wanted to laugh so hard at this. I want to laugh all the time at everything. But I’m too worried about the metaphorical poop in my purse until all I want to do is leave the purse behind, poop and all. Now that I’m thinking about it, I am a little ill at ease that after all that she kept the purse. Ewww…

Try not to carry every little thing with you and hold onto it emotionally and physically. It gets extremely uncomfortable. Share it with someone. Or distract yourself somehow over and over again. Just know that everybody poops, and you are not alone. And don’t put it in your purse.

Shower Thought or Trash Collection?


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via tvguide.com

Today, I set out to complete some errands, but since some of the things I was going to do got resolved more quickly than anticipated, I decided to treat myself by looking up a ranking of every hat Frank ever wore on 30 RockWhy? Because sometimes I like to follow up success with mediocrity. We cannot have the sweet without the sour, I am told, and I enjoy Sourpatch Kids, so there ya go.

Once again, the internet granted my request. I enjoyed the 90’s as much as anyone who lived through it, but I also remember writing down songs on spiral notebook paper because the stupid cd didn’t come with the lyrics to the song I loved. It still amazes me that tasks you once had to do yourself are now a click of a time-wasting button away.


via Mandatory.com

I’m always looking for writing prompts, and some of these are quite good. Although if you start at the end, you’re going to become defeated quickly.

I once thought that Frank’s hats in the show 30 Rock were about greatness, but not all of these are good. Some of them are plain garbage. Anyway, ones like “Panic Dream” and “Space Gravy” make me excited and the others I just straight up won’t mention. MTV also made a list of it if you don’t feel like the commentary or ranking is necessary.


via holybatshitman.com

My plan was to also write a serious post, but I’d rather think about Frank’s hats than the stuff that really annoys me. Maybe at a later date. I do need to go back to errands and chores.

Don’t forget to Daydream for the Job you want


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via HelloGiggles.com

For those who aren’t current on my life events, I am searching for the best g-damn job in the PNW! Or at least, the best for me.


via Pinterest

When you first start searching again for a job, you’re rusty. I feel like I’ve looked for work more than any other person I’ve ever met, and I’m always surprised at how bad I am at it initially. I get pretty smooth after a couple of months, but then I get hired, and my mode changes to “job security and synergy” and I completely forget how to sleuth.

Today, I got an impromptu phone interview. This is how it’s supposed to go. “Your company does ____, and I do ____, ____, and achieved ____. Here’s what I can do for you!”

My first phone interview is always like the rookie pilot taking the jet out for the first time, or a teenager learning to drive a manual transmission. Clunky, uncomfortable, scary, and a little reckless. But it makes me nostalgic for my Improv days.

It’s sort of a sales job, so they asked me why I was interested in their company. I launched into a tangent about their line of work and how I couldn’t understand how anyone would be opposed to the current project they’re working on. “But some people are stupid.”

I said “stupid” in a job interview. There was a quick recovery after I said it, and I think it *kind* of worked to my advantage (you can teach sales skills but not passion!). A huge red alert that I really need to get my shit together and start rehearsing my one woman monologue song and dance about the greatness of Me. Which wouldn’t be a problem per say, except I hate singing about my work accomplishments.

I’m not the person you hire because they’re going to come in every day for 30 years and do a good job. I’m more of a human hurricane who’s capable of greatness, but not unlike Icarus, flies too close to the sun. Which is why I’m looking for work again. Most work is so rigid and inflexible. And damnit, I need a certain degree of freedom that 9-5, “normal” people jobs don’t allow. A degree of freedom on the wardrobe doesn’t hurt either. If I dress in a suit, I look like a child playing dress up.


via Pinterest

A career coach once told me that the job you want is basically a baby-sitting for the owner or manager’s baby. They want to know they can trust you with a baby. That was the analogy. Their world is this baby, and they have to know you can keep it alive.

And I suck with babies. I don’t really like them very much. However, I have sort of an awkward and unorthodox charm. Many people hire someone because they can reliably change a ton of diapers daily and know all the steps, but a lucky few hire me because I think of new songs to sing to the baby or new toys for him/her to play with and expand his/her mind. I’m not so good with routine, but I like to dazzle me some babies. And when they cry, I TOTALLY get it. I’m empathetic to babies, because I cry over stupid things constantly.

So bring me your babies, and watch me juggle. I swear, we’ll all have a good time!


via theodysseyonline.com


Jazz, and other things I suck at


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Something that Jerry Seinfeld and Mike Birbiglia have both brought up in their stand-up routines is how they’re not good at anything besides being funny. I’m paraphrasing not calling them out (they’re funny and make a living at it, so who cares?), but that’s the jist. Birbiglia even at one time really wanted to be a break dancer and was encouraged by his siblings who no doubt liked to watch their little brother fall on the floor. Because making your brothers and sisters look as stupid as possible has got to be one of the best things about sharing one or two parents.

I couldn’t initially think of the word “break dancing,” so I Googled “dance where you fall on the floor.” It didn’t help, because Break dancing wasn’t one of the results. I ended up having to remember it organically, which means the internet is still on its way to being sentient. What I did get were a lot of Youtube videos of people falling, some of them while drunk. The spirit of America’s Funniest Home Videos will apparently outlive us all, and, I’m sure, follow us into a post-apocalyptic world. My friend was playing Fall Out 4 and asked, “Why do people like this? I keep having to build shelves and run errands for people.” You wouldn’t think you’d have to do shit other than celebrate being alive, but maybe I don’t watch or read enough sci-fi to verify this. When my husband reads this post, he’ll probably just turn to me and shake his head. But then again, he’ll probably be the one in the post-apocalyptic world building shelves, because he does read sci-fi. And likes feeling productive.

I’m sorry if I’m not telling it very well, but I gave my mom Mike Birbliglia’s Sleepwalk with Me book as a present, and she was like, “Okay, I’ll read it!” But she lied, and it’s been 5 years, and she still hasn’t read it. Now it’s lost in her messy house, and I don’t want to go out and buy it again in case she finds it. I should probably just go buy it again.

What I’m trying to say is that Jon Benjamin, the voice of Archer and who also stars in Aziz Ansari’s Master of None, made a jazz cd. Parker sent it to me earlier today. I almost busted my gut laughing, because Parker suggested I work out while I listen to it which means he either loves me a lot to send me something to make me laugh or is actually trying to kill me. It’s probably the former, because I almost never exercise.

Parker: I thought it would be perfect for you, because I heard Soft Jazzercise, and thought, “Hey! That’s how my wife does it. Barely at all.”

So, not only is Jon Benjamin funny, but his jazz cd is great because he can’t play the piano at all. I’m also drawn to it, because it also reminds me of whenever music teachers found out I knew how to play piano at school.

As a child, I developed joy in trying to learn how to play simple songs on the electric piano. All I needed to do was show my mom I’d graduated to the point of wanting to learn to play music for her to mention it to my grandma. My grandma pounced on this immediately and went out and bought me a piano that required my mom to remodel the living room.

I was then introduced to the weekly torture of practicing for piano class. I hated being MADE to play and often cried. I would sob while Mom, who hated to make me and maybe hated to listen to me play the song incorrectly over and over even more, screamed that I needed to play, and my grandma bought me such a NICE piano, and didn’t she love me? So I’d cry and sniffle, and try to play it from memory, since I was worse at reading music than I was at playing music. I could never remember which note was which, so I’d memorize the piece and then my teacher would chuckle as I paused midway up the piano and would say, “I see you memorizing the piece again.”

All I wanted to do was play what I wanted to play WHEN I wanted to play it! Now I knew how to play “Yes, we have no Bananas,” but did NOT want to learn how to play “Spring Morning.” I certainly didn’t want to practice it semi-weekly to have to practice it even more in order to play it at my piano recital. To make it less awful, I made up my own terrible lyrics to “Spring Morning,” which I still have memorized because that’s never leaving unless I get full-on Alzheimers or a brain tumor. There’s something about making up lyrics to songs that runs on both sides of my family and makes me happy whenever I think about it.

By the time I was in 6th grade, I was trying out new things like the clarinet, but the lessons remained the same, and now it was harder, because I had to learn to try to find the notes all over again and blow “just so.” When my 6th grade music teacher insisted we were all going to play different instruments and memorize a song, he added, “If you have musical experience with an instrument, tell me, and we’ll assign it to you. Otherwise, you’ll get something random.”

“I’ve had piano lessons,” I said after another girl had raised her hand to admit she knew how to play.

“Excellent! Let’s hear what you’ve both got,” my music teacher proclaimed.

I then watched this girl play and realized we weren’t even close to the same skill level.

“Oh, I’m not THAT good,” I said once she had finished.

“I’m sure you’re great. You’re just being modest!”

“I’m really not.”

One of the things I have gathered about teachers now that I am older is that where we see failure and lack of skill, teachers see the flickering of potential. I survived the performance of “Wannabe” and managed to disentangle myself from taking lessons.

Now, I pretty much leave piano playing up to my husband. He’s much better. But the point is that comedians have given me unrealistic job expectations, and so now I think I may have a future in the jazz biz. More details to follow.

A yard of what? Beer?


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I’ll try to make this post quick as I have a lot of boring but necessary errands to attend to a city or two away.

Husband and I just got a yard which is the first yard we’ve had in several years. I’ll also note that this is the first yard that is ours, because the last yard was a shared one with the 4-plex and our landlords used to leave random trash in it, and there were even rats. I’m still trying to forget about them, because the situation made me angry. *Hums and pretends to meditate.*

This is the one that REALLY counts.

What it’s made me realize is that I want a yard, and even though my mother is a master gardener with a certificate to prove it, I don’t know the first thing about gardening or yards. I know you’re supposed to use water on them, but apparently it’s a balancing act. Right now, we moved in our plants, but because it was winter, and they’re outside plants, they’ve all basically died in their pots.

The yard has no grass as of right now, and my husband and I are trying to figure out what to do with it.


Is this what you do with a yard? I don’t have a tree! I’m so confused. (via hulu.tumblr.com)

Me: I almost picked up soil on the way home today!
Parker: Yeah, but you have to get a specific kind, and you have to mix it with the dirt already there. And if we’re going to put in grass, you have to do it just so.
Me: …Oh. Well, I’m glad I didn’t buy anything then!
Parker: We also have to figure out how much grass we’re going to put in and what to do with the rest of the yard.
Me: Right.

A call made to my mom 
Me: Can I compost with dog poop?
Mom: NO.
Me: Oh man, that’s the main thing I was going to compost.
Mom: You can’t use it. You can use coffee grounds, but you also have to use a little bit of dirt. You can dig some up in your backyard. Actually, it’d probably be better to get some from the store. You can also put in old lettuce. Start in some kind of small bucket.
Me: Okaaay.

The dog doesn’t really know what to do with it either, but her purpose in the backyard is more straight forward. She’s really small, and the ground is uneven so lots of puddles accumulate, and then she doesn’t want to go outside. Instead, she runs to the front door, like, “Walk??” and I’m like, “You do know it’s also wet and raining out front, right? You don’t always get walks. Sometimes you just need to pee in the yard. That’s part of why we have it.” And then I usually take her for a walk anyway, because I’m a sucker, and I want our carpet to smell like NOTHING.

Right now, the main thing that’s out there are these flamingos in Christmas hats we got from Fred Meyer. They’re pretty cool and are on one of my previous posts. The cat likes the backyard better than the dog, probably because she’s more used to having one, and she really likes to go out and check out the flamingos. I’m not sure if she thinks she’s their leader, but that’s my best guess so far. The dog likes them too, but not as much as the cat.

Dog: Are you guys okay? Nope, still not edible. Still probably not alive. All right, bye.

Cat: Ah yes…exactly where I left you. Stay there and worship me. Good…goooood. I will use you in my plot to takeover. Be ready at my word.

Last night, I took down almost all of our Christmas decorations (finally) and moved some of the boxes out of our living room. The dog was asleep for this, but when she woke up, she looked around with an expression that said, “Woah, this place looks better! How long was I asleep?” It was fast, and I was too busy laughing to document it, but trust me, it was great.

Anyway, I’ll edit this later and post a pic so you guys can help me. I clearly need help.



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My childhood friend, Victoria Elizabeth Reed, wrote a book. It’s called Ghosted, about a woman who finds herself without one of her closest friends or explanations. Please check it out, and let me know what you think. I think it’s a subject that many of us can relate to. She also has a Facebook page under the title. Like it for updates!

I’ve known people who have written books before, but this is the closest person I’ve ever had to me to self-publish. I’m so proud of her!

I will say this…ending a friendship isn’t easy. It’s hard to tell people you’ve grown apart or hate something they’re doing or haven’t done. Resentment builds up like residue in a drain. It’s even worse when you’re the one who finds yourself on the receiving end of this. I could go into details, but suffice to say, it would be best to start Reed’s experience. I’m glad she and I are friends, and I’m happier that I’m not the Ghoster friend (I like that, reminds me of one of the ghosts in the haunted levels of Super Mario!) she wrote the book about.

This isn’t about her book, it’s just where my mind went from here. I listened to this song a lot in October. It’s pretty rad–the opposite kind of ghost, I would say.

That white stuff



Our metro area has snow, so everyone’s snapping pictures of their backyards and encouraging their 4 wheel drive, chain-tire buddies to come over to build igloos and snow forts and angels.

I like snow when I don’t have to worry about attendance at work or how I’m going to commute to said job. We could probably take the bus to the store provided it’s running if we really have to.

Right now, I’m enjoying the excuse to stay inside, watch tv and procrastinate activities like laundry.

Parker’s sick right now, so we’re both hoping the snow lasts so he won’t have to go to work tomorrow.

Happy Snow Day!


Picture by The Weird Button



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Today, my assignment was completed. When I accepted some contractual work in the fall of last year, I requested no long term assignments. There are plenty of reasons for this, the largest being my health. When you spend your days not knowing how you’ll feel from one minute to the next, you get better at being flexible. Life always throws curveballs, so sometimes it’s easier to ride the waves than fight the current.

My agent originally estimated that the job would last 2-3 weeks. Today, it has been about 3 months since I accepted that position. I got to work with a talented team full of good people. In the beginning, there were some bumps. Without having a long discussion about what was going on, I clarified with them early in what I could and could not do for the job. Even then, I ended being limited in even what I had thought I could do. Thanks to Neil Gaiman in an online video speech he did for some graduating college students about stating how if your work is good, you’re pleasant, and you’re on time, how far that goes. He said “You don’t even need all three,” and I had to hold my breath and hope he was right.

He was.

When 2015 started, I was optimistic. 2014 had been so hard. In a lot of ways, this past year has been far more difficult, and in other ways it has been easier. I traded the majority of emotional stress for physical. I began to accept that sometimes we don’t have all the answers, and although I initially thought I was developing patience, what I’m actually achieving is a kind of acceptance and peace in my life.

Another way of illustrating it is my parents’s method of letting me know what they want for Christmas. My mom and dad both like to tell me what they DON’T want. And when you begin to see what you don’t want in your life, you are at the start of the journey to find what your life can become. Obviously, you can’t control everything that comes along. But finding the good, the simple joys in savoring the present, is a good start. And yeah, it feels like bullshit when I’m sick and in pain, but it’s important to remember that as much as you can.

Cultivating relationships with your co-workers when you’re sick is challenging. I’m very self-conscious about how I come across to other people. And since I know my weaknesses pretty well, it makes me less confident. I’m not the same person at work that I am off of it. I don’t think people understood well why I wouldn’t sit with them at lunch, and honestly, I’m a weird person to eat lunch with anyway. Parker says I’m the loudest eater ever, and I always forget to bring silverware, so it’s like eating next to a wild animal. On top of that, I love reading, so sitting alone, or in my car when it’s warm enough, is kind of my signature move. It cracks my heart when I can’t sit in my car, chew my food, and stare at the blue, blue sky.

Despite my holding back, one of my superiors called me “Little Miss Sunshine.” She was always my favorite from the Little Miss and Mister books as a child. That’s the other good thing about having major or many weaknesses. You really grab onto your strengths and hold on for dear life.

I considered leaving before the contract was finished. My husband and I relocated due to the rising cost of living, and commuting each day was uncomfortable. I had to wake up earlier, be in the car longer, and it made me worry more. The car accident has had a lasting effect on my being in a vehicle.

But I liked working there, and the last contractor left on bad terms. I wanted to not only show the best me, but I wanted the company I worked with not to get hurt.

It’s also exciting to finish your job on the last day of the year. The end of the year is already brimming with possibility, and like I said in the last post, I get very caught up in the holidays.

An old friend told me earlier tonight that her husband had been in a car accident when one of his tires blew on the freeway. He is safe, but she said that it’s a reminder to cherish what we have and tell those we love that we love them. It was a reminder of how much I have.

I was hoping to spend the evening in the low roar of my friends’ voices and laughter, but when I returned home from work, my husband was lying in his coat on the couch where he’d been since around noon. When I asked why he had his coat on, he said, “Because I was cold.” I don’t get a lot of chances to take care of my husband since I’m the one who usually needs the caring for, but I put about 5 blankets over him while our dog sat on him to heal him with what our friend Til calls “Pooch Power.” He told me a few minutes ago that he’s feeling a little better.

I hope whoever and wherever you are, that you are having a good, safe New Year’s. It’s always important to remember our goals in life and to try our best to handle what comes our way. Blessings.

I’m phoning it in…wait, that’s not how the saying goes


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Time to ring in the New Year.


via Scribd.com

I’ve talked to friends and family over the years who aren’t crazy about New Year’s Eve. Yet for many years growing up, it was my favorite holiday. It’s not as a controversial holiday to love as say Valentine’s Day or confusing as Arbor Day (or insert any day one doesn’t get released from school or work here), but I took special pride in relishing a holiday others didn’t.

Let me be clear in saying that New Year’s is no longer my favorite holiday, but I still remember why it was my favorite holiday for years and take time to cherish it in kind of a bizarre, cult-tish way that I obsess about things in ways nobody else does.*


via Calvinklein.tumblr.com

It started when I was relatively young, maybe about ten. When you’re ten, things kind of suck. They don’t really suck, but you’re at an age where your hopes and dreams and planning really start to bother you, because you’re still a child and all those tv shows and movies about kids saving the day and being a hero are really becoming at odds with how you see yourself.**

So I was stuck inside with my mom and my stepdad, and at midnight we went outside and lit sparklers. I wanted to set off real fireworks, but my mom watched A Christmas Story too many times, and was all “You’ll shoot your eye out!” No dice. From the beginning of the evening until shortly after midnight right before I went to bed (because there was nothing else to do), I made a promise to myself.

The promise was to not just accept a holiday as another day, but to grab it with all my might and celebrate as mightily as I was allowed (or maybe more at a distance from parental units!). My New Year resolution was about New Years.

Other things I love about New Year’s besides partying like it’s 1999 (I’m lame and awesome simultaneously, so I’m sticking with this outdated phrase…also, I love Prince):

  • End of year lists
    What were the best &worst movies of the year? What were all the news items I missed, because I’m really bad at paying attention to things? (No, seriously, my in-laws wrapped two Christmas gifts under my nose for me this weekend, and I was spacing out like cats do when they spot some fuzz but are too lazy to chase it.)It’s been pointed out to me that I should really check out Big Fat Quiz of the Year which is all about the end of the year wrap-up.
  • End of year apps
    What hilarious things did I say? What amazing pictures did we take? Who poked me the most? etc.
  • Fireworks to a point
    Provided they do not interrupt my sleep or scare my animals
  • Partying to a point
    Same rules apply. I’m kind of a grandpa. One of my closest friends and I consistently bond over the Cards of Humanity phrase “Some g-damn peace and quiet.” It will almost always trump any other card for either of us.



  • Nostalgia Beyond Normalcy 
    I’ve been reading a book called Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater. Slater has temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE), and because of the way the seizures affect her brain, she talked about how she is prone to extreme nostalgia.I don’t have TLE, so I don’t want you to misunderstand. I also don’t want you to think I’m making light of the situation, but I am trying to clarify the difference. I find memory fascinating and recommend the book even though there’s a fair amount of rambling (but I ramble too, so what do I know?). I have a lovely summer home in the Past, but I try not to stay there too often. I’m no stranger to normal nostalgia, especially the heightened, somewhat nausea-inducing amount I pour over everything on the eve of New Year’s.

    “This is the last shower I will take this year,” I reflect as I luffaw my shoulder into a sudsy softness. “This is the last song I’ll hear this year,” I’ll hum. “This is the last outfit I’ll wear.” You get the idea-so silly.

  • Black-eyed Peas and Cabbage 
    It’s supposed to bring luck and wealth in the New Year, and my husband, the fabulous cook, makes the most amazing food. Also, there’s a solid ton of bacon-a must have.
  • Watching People Make and Break their Resolutions
    It’s like watching ice skaters on a rink at the mall…if they can’t fly high and proud, you still tingle a little bit on the inside when they hit the ground.
  • New Year’s Kiss 
    Romantic, beautiful, the thrill still gets me.


    I love dogs and kisses and being nuts, ok?

    via digg.tumblr.com

  • When Harry Met Sally
    It has a New Year’s theme related to time passing and people falling in love.



  • Growing 
    If you have a child, watching them learn and become their own, unique identity. Regardless, we all have room for emotional and spiritual growth. It’s refreshing to think about.

Happy New Year’s, everyone!


*In order to fully explain why NY is no longer my favorite holiday, I’d have to go through the whole history of holidays and my relation to them, and nobody wants that (I don’t think it would take that long, but I have a way of creating tangents where none should be). If for some reason you do, comment at the bottom, and I’ll come up with a separate post. Maybe I’ll even include a beautiful forest like the one in Nightmare Before Christmas where all the holidays are accounted for, if you’re extra good.

**Another topic I could write a whole post about — the importance and clash of how you think your life is and should be when you’re young based on pop culture. I should be making notes in my Google docs about this! My sister’s boyfriend recently advised when I get too emotional that I take a step back and remind myself that it’s not real. He’s a great guy and new to the scene so he didn’t know I’d react this way, but I still narrowed my eyes and practically yelled, “It IS important. This is real life. This is what it’s all about!” I don’t think he understand, and that’s okay. But we know that it is. Moving on.