Do you have to let it linger?


It’s not often that I can, in good conscience, make a football joke…BUT…I feel like Tom Brady’s balls….uh…footballs.  Deflated.

My super cool bootcamp in New York City was canceled a few weeks ago.  The founder is simply too successful in her newest company and doesn’t have the time to devote to the camp currently.  I’ve been trying to be optimistic about it and trying my best not to get too salty about it.  But I have to admit….I’m salty.  I think my lingering saltiness is because the annoying tidbits are still not tied up.  I can’t quite wash my hands clean of this bad vibe until everything is resolved.

The main thing up in the air is money.

Ugh, the root of all evil.  I shut down my fundraising page only to have the site send me all the money instead of refund back to individual donors.  Not a huge deal.  I’ve been waiting on this money for 3 weeks.  I know it’s not lost and I know it’s all going to be just fine…but I want it to be over.  I want to either find another class to take or to give all the money back.  That’s it.  It’s like laying on a bed with an annoying pea under the mattress that only I can feel.  Wait, does that make me a princess?

I suppose it’s a sign from the great beyond that now is not the time.  Maybe now is not the time for me to meet inspiring people and learn about entrepreneurship.  Maybe I’m not meant to do this.  Maybe I’m meant to do what I’m currently doing.  Maybe I should stop changing my mind everyday?!?  I just don’t know.  My gut says otherwise.

Maybe…I should write silly little blogs everyday.

Advertisements

They hid the mofo candy!!


What. The. Fuck.

In an effort to distract me from my addiction to crack sugar, my husband has enlisted the children to hide their Halloween candy from me!

What. The. FUCK?  I was really looking forward to a little Baby Ruth wrapped in a Milky Way…with a vanilla flavored Tootsie Roll chaser.  God damn I love those vanilla Tootsie Rolls.  Why can’t they just sell those in a package by themselves.  No one wants the lemon ones.  No one (except for me…when it gets to the last of the candy and there’s nothing good left…then I want the lemon ones).

Hide the candy?  From their mom?

Could it be because I helped myself to all the Almond Joys and all of the Butterfingers yesterday?  Or maybe because I started in on the Smarties, M&M’s and Sweet-Tarts?  Perhaps it was the sugar induced fit of rage that followed?  I tore through the house like a tazmanian devil…a swirling tornado of milk chocolate aroma, candy wrappers and Skittle dust.  Maybe the last straw was waking up next to a bitchy, irrational, sour patch woman with a killer sugar hangover?

‘Throw away all the candy and all the junk food in the house!  I hate everything!!  I can’t control myself!!  Save yourselves!!’

I’m completely irrational and I plead with him to just try and help me out.  I talk all this game about eating healthy and detoxing from junk food because it makes me crazy (just a little but maniacal).  I ask for all this support and help in trying to keep it out of the house.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Just help me out, man!  Get this shit out of here.  Once that first grape Skittle touches my eager little taste buds…it’s over.  It’s over.  Game over.  Shut it down.

I guess he didn’t like it.  I guess it wasn’t sexy Halloween kitten enough.  I suppose I asked for it.  I suppose I have a little bit of a problem.  But am I a little bit irritated that he made a special phone call specifically to ask them to hide it before I got home…and that I can’t even have one little piece??  Because it’s hidden from me??

I’ll sniff it out.  Give me 8 minutes.

Primary


image

 

People like to say that they could’ve made this piece of art.  They could’ve.  But they didn’t.

People like to say they hate it because it’s minimal and takes very little talent to paint a whole canvas a solid primary color.

People like to be critical.

People like to think they know everything about art.

Guess who loved this piece?  This 6 year old lovely.  Yes.  Art doesn’t have to be complex and inventive to be great.  It can be whatever it wants.  People will still run through the museum to get to it after looking at sterile still lives and portraits.  This 6 year old ran because it’s familiar and comforting and she can relate to it even though she doesn’t know the deep seeded meaning behind it.  People will still stretch their arms out and say, ‘This one is my favorite!’ just like she did.

Word to your mother.

Tweet


image

These birds…they’re pretty pissed I’m sitting in their front yard, enjoying the morning sun. 

They’re tweeting to all their bird friend followers:

If this bitch doesn’t get off my lawn, I’m shitting in her teeth.

I’m gonna peck the eyeballs out of her spying face.

Fml, the annoying neighbor lady is back to chat.

Purse curse


image

Curse this purse…or rather, this purse is cursed.

I think this is one of the only things that I have truly despised from Target. And I had high hopes for it…my cute little pink clutch. It fit all my things perfectly.

Well, after about a week, she zipped no more.  Sometimes if I zipped strategically and slow, with my face super close to it watching the links go in and out of the zipper head, it would zip…but then halfway up, split again. 

Then I’d try the encouraging, speedy, staccato back and forth zips….I think, maybe if I just zip it back and forth like I’m trying to start a fire, it’ll catch and amazingly zip for me. 

And it might.  But then I’d have to eventually unzip it again…for money or some other annoying reason and go through the same song and dance again.

What’s most impressive and also maddening is just how long a person, meaning me, will put up with such an annoying daily nuisance.

Months.  Yes, months.  At least 3…no more than 5.

I mean, they’re cupcakes in bread form…


image

I blame Starbucks and these dang loaves of chocolate and vanilla cake…

I blame them for warming them up and making them taste like fresh, warm, cupcakes…

I blame the rain…

I really thought I wanted to try to end my sugar binge today.  I thought I wanted to stop eating my feelings.

Turns out I don’t.  Not unless it’s sunny, I guess.

I blame leaving too early to drop the kids off at school…

I blame the short drive through line…

Hell, I even blame them for having a stupid drive through…

I blame my brain…

I blame those sweet, white, sparkly granules…

You win again, sugar.  Until next time (and I’m most certain you will probably win again next time because I have lost all my will power and all the muscle tone I thought I had).

You can be a winner


image

Life.

The game of life. 

There are immense discrepancies between real life and the game of life.  For instance, teachers do not make 100K a year for their salary…and the chance of having twins 3 times is pretty slim. 

Also, you have to get married in the game…but you don’t have to go to college???  What kind of awful message is this to the moldable minds of our youth?? 

What a curmudgeon I am. 

I decided there should be an adult version of the game of life. 

In this game, student loan payments and rent follow right behind payday and leave only enough for a 6 pack of beer flavored water.  A game in which credit cards get stolen and someone else enjoys that European vacation on your dime. 

Where home insurance helps rebuild your home that burned down.  A game where husbands impregnate their mistresses and wives gold dig old, rich men so they can get boob jobs.  A game in which divorce can make or break the bank and where you don’t get to cash your kids in for 50K when you retire, if you make it to retirement…or if you’re lucid enough to know you’re retiring.

Retirement in the real game of life might mean hiring a bitter live in nurse to feed you applesauce and change your squishy bedpan…especially if your children turned into teen moms.

Of course there’s real fun in real life.  I know.  There’s ice cream and sunshine and best friends.  All the great things in the real game of life seem to cost next to nothing.  🙂

As far as the real board game…when we play, we always name our kids.  The lovelies always choose perfectly delightful names for their future children.  Jenny and Jonathan…Jack and Hannah.  I prefer unique names.

My triplets Cheeto, Dorito, and Frito appreciate it…as well as the twins Cocoa Puff and Butter.

Simplify


image

Ahh simplicity.  Why is it so daunting?  Why is there always clutter??

I just want all my material possessions to disappear.  I feel like I carry them around with me all day long, like I can feel their weight on my shoulders.

Why now?  Why do I care?  Why does it matter??

It’s always mattered…but much like other things in my life, I’ve neglected to honor that it matters to me.  I’ve been the one to put aside my needs and to just fucking ‘deal with it.’

The trouble with physical clutter is that it leads to mental clutter and chaos.  It leads to having blinders on to all your surroundings and floating through your space as if you don’t even belong there. 

I feel like a stranger in my home.  I feel like I haven’t been able to truly live how I want to and like to because I’m working around trying to not be that way. 

Well, here it is.  I’m a fucking minimalist.  I fucking love organization.  I’m a little obsessive about it.  I’m a fucking control freak.  I want to rid myself of all this extra baggage.

I find it unnecessary.  I admit, there was a time when I thought I needed more and more things, special things, things that were sentimental.  I realize…sentimental has made me mental. 

Please, come and take away my things!

Still hate the dentist…


So I’m here with my tiny little 5 year old baby at the mother fucking dentist. 

Those of you who know how this brain works, know that my blood pressure sky rockets when I drive past this place, let alone being inside an office watching this awful process happen on my tiniest little precious lovely #2. 

I want to bash their faces in.  I want to pull the sharp silver daggers out of their hands and drive them into their eyeballs.  I want to smash the stupid, calming, lava lamp into the awful flower paintings on the wall. 

I can’t look. My eyes well up a little. 

But just like that, it’s over…and she’s fine…and I can breathe again.  My cold, clammy hands can allow blood back in.  Thankfully I didn’t have to flip over tables and break windows.