no thanks

I’m Not Doing This Shit, New Year Or Not

Resolutions are fine and I’ll probably make a few I won’t keep…like exercising more or learning Swahili. I’m more interested in what I’m going to continue not doing this year. I’m on board with being a better person next year, but I’m going to throw out a prediction that will blow your mind…I’ll probably be pretty much the same person I am right now one year from today. With a few more wrinkles and a lot more leggings. So pour some champagne and watch balls drop and let’s make lists of shit we will continue to not do.

No wraps for me cause I like my belly this way. Natural.

No wraps for me cause I like my belly this way. Natural.

  • Sell MLM shit.  I know those wraps have changed your life; you claim to be bringing home 5 grand a month and your husband was able to quit his lucrative job to help you schlep these green pieces of fabric that people tie around their waists, but I still don’t want to “get in on the ground floor”.  I know I’m missing a great opportunity to sell shitty products to everyone I’m related to and force my friends to block me on every social media outlet because I won’t shut my fucking trap about some weight loss pill but I’m willing to take the risk. I’m just saying no to multilevel marketing schemes…the belly wraps and green pills and magic mascara and 700 dollar casserole dishes. Just no.

 

  • Buy or wear Uggs. My 13-year-old has continued (for three months now) to label me as “basic” and after many Google searches I’ve learned a lot about being a basic bitch. Did you know they have basic bitch parties? Like 80’s parties except you dress like a basic bitch instead of a slutty Bon Jovi fan. The basic bitch outfit includes a flannel shirt, a large scarf, leggings, Uggs, and a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I can get behind every part of that outfit minus the Uggs. Uggs are overpriced dead baby sheep that look as obnoxious on your feet as those Crocs you insist on wearing all summer. I’m a solid no on this one.
Looks delicious, but I would rather lick my toilet clean for breakfast.

Looks delicious, but I would rather lick my toilet clean for breakfast.

  • Drinking green shakes. We own a Nutribullet and I like kale, but I’m not committing to green shakes this year. I’m really concerned that once I venture to the dark side of green shakes there would be no stopping me from running five miles a day, wearing a puffy LL Bean jacket, and saying things like “I’m going to grab my reusable grocery bags so we can make a trip to Whole Foods this afternoon.” It’s bad enough that I’m a basic bitch, with the green shakes in my life I would end up being a hipster and that’s just a slippery slope toward a beard and a man bun.

 

  • Watching The Bachelor, American Idol, or any other over-hyped, fake as shit reality show. Not partaking in The Bachelor makes it difficult for me to leave my house or have conversations with nearly any female on the planet from January well into July. “OMG, did you see The Bachelor last night?” No. Because I’m married and I have absolutely no vested interest in ridiculously attractive people going on overpriced dates and then back stabbing one another in the process of racing toward marital bliss. Which isn’t a thing, in case they were wondering. Last year of American Idol? It’s about motherfucking time. The only redeeming part of that show is watching people who have more self-esteem in their baby toenail than I have in my whole body belt out a Celine Dion song that sounds like a dying cat. I could watch that all day long. I’ll continue to hate fake reality shows this year and I hope the Bachelor marries the raunchiest bitch who ever walked upright and they both end up on Snapped after his body is found simmering in a Rubbermaid container full of acid. (Yes, I’m a horrible person.)
Keep those pills and tape measure the hell away from me.

Keep those pills and tape measure the hell away from me.

  • Going on any diet, of any kind, for even one second. I’ve played out the dieting game. When I was a teenager, I had a fondness for Dexatrim and not eating. That’s just one of many diets I’ve tried and failed. After the birth of my kids I was heavier than I had been in my life, but I knew diets never ended well for me. So I did what I knew I could do…I walked, gave up eating fast food, and stopped drinking soda. That’s not a diet, that’s just common sense. I’m sticking with that common sense plan and steering clear of the Atkins diet, the Paleo diet, the all fat diet, the no fat diet, the Subway diet (only pervs do that one), and especially the pills combined with empty promises diet. That one is a soul killer. Read this great piece by Anne Lamott about the New Year’s dieting ritual…it’s good eats. 

I hope you welcome in the New Year with a bunch of shit you just aren’t going to do and maybe a few things that you would like to try. I’ll be over here in the corner avoiding conversations about reality TV and sucking on a cheese ball.

person kick

When It’s Time For A Drop Kick

Relationships are hard. This may be news to those of you who gave up people and are living in a prefab shed subsisting on 12 gallon barrels of wheat. (What do you folks do with all that wheat? Asking for a friend.) For the rest of us, we are painfully aware of the challenges that come along with being around other human beings. (Holiday family parties, anyone?) Sometimes we get a sickly feeling in our gut, which may also feel like an e coli laced burrito from Chipolte, but is really a sign that it may be time to drop kick someone to the curb. It’s not easy and you will need some decent shoes.

I guess you really don't need shoes...

I guess you really don’t need shoes…

Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve had a troubled and tumultuous relationship with my biological father from the time I climbed out of my mother’s womb. As we all get to do when we become adults, he has made decisions that do not bolster a loving, accepting relationship with me. A few therapists and many (5 million) cry sessions later, I have come to realize that his choices have less to do with me (hard to accept) than they do with his inability to relate to people on a deeper level. Curb kick initiated. And not because I don’t love him or hope that he finds some deep gratification for other people one day, but because I’ve reached a pivotal point in my life where I’m unwilling to break myself in order to have relationships with other people. It just shouldn’t be that hard or emotionally taxing.

Am I a fucking expert on relationships? Hold on while I laugh myself senseless and pour another glass of wine. No, I’m not. But I’m older and more crotchety and I have come to the realization that I don’t have the ability to change people nor do I have the time to idly stand by while they treat me like shit. I’m already an expert at treating myself like shit, so I’m all set up in that arena. I’ve also come to accept that I’m not too shabby at keeping up relationships with people who genuinely want me in their lives. I’ve done a decent job for most of my life and have many long term friendships, a sort of long marriage, a loving family, and other amazing folks in my life who I call neighbor, co-worker, and lady at the liquor store. She always greets me with a smile and I really think one day we will hug like old friends. It will be the day where I creepily jump over the counter with a bottle of wine in each hand and tackle her with so much love in my heart that I can hardly contain it.

Because I don't have a pic of me and the liquor store lady. Yet.

Because I don’t have a pic of me and the liquor store lady. Yet.

The thing is….I just don’t have time for people who don’t want/see/dream/desire/cheer for the best in me. I just don’t. I used to because I didn’t value my own time or value how I felt about myself. The assumption was that I could make them see the best, I could love them enough to love me. One more dinner out, one more Christmas card, one more phone call, one more time where I left their energy field feeling drained and not enough of myself to even put on deodorant. But that shit has to end. Thankfully, I’m ready to end it and I hope you are too.

It’s not about anger or hatred or burning dog poop on someone’s front porch (although I won’t judge you for that, things happen). It’s about letting those fizzled relationships totally fizzle out and sometimes it takes those hardy hard, yucky schmuck conversations where you speak your truth and walk away. I’m not good at this one, so don’t get your pantyliner in a wad.

“Oh, so now she’s the fucking expert on relationships.” Again…no. No I’m not and I’m terrible at confrontation. It makes me sweat profusely and I get as jittery as a crack head on a bender. It’s not pretty.

This is me trying to tell someone that it's time to hit the road.

This is me trying to tell someone that it’s time to hit the road.

I like it best when relationships just fizzle out on their own. However, sometimes they won’t and you will have to say some heartbreaking things in order to regain your sanity. These are some of the things I have said and it’s still hard and it still hurts but the result can be ooey gooey. Even if it takes a couple of years for you to recover.

“I feel like you are doing ___________ and I’m not okay with that in my life. I love you, but I can’t have a friendship with you anymore.”

Ouch, I know.

“You can stop saying mean things to me or you can leave my house.”

Usually they leave. Sometimes they don’t.

“This is not acceptable to me any longer.”

Then you run the other way.

“I know that you are ___________ and I’m not comfortable with having a relationship with you anymore. I don’t want you around my children and I’m unwilling to put myself in this situation.”

That’s tough like jerky…am I right?

Here’s the deal….I’ve been cut out of people’s lives, too, yo. This has happened to me. I have said something that didn’t bode well and it ended a friendship. Cheers to that. Because we all have the right to spend time with people we want to spend time with. We all get to have a voice in our lives. Find your voice and get uncomfortable. Tough business but every relationship has an expiration date…some are long like that vat of rice in your basement and some are short like the milk you bought last week. If your relationship/friendship has expired it doesn’t mean you have fucked up or that anyone involved is the bad guy, it just means it’s time to dump that milk down the drain, wish it well, and move the fuck on. By hugging your local liquor store lady.

brick

Brick Feet and My Hatred of Shopping

Nothing is more uncomfortable in my life right now than shoes and being inside a store where I need to buy things and other people are present. Combine the two and and you’ve reached the pinnacle of my own personal Stephen King horror clip. In an attempt to avoid all things shoppy and shoe related, I purchase all my holiday gifts online and found some shitty work shoes at the thrift store. A thrift store is a place where you can buy nasty, already broken in shoes without having a salesperson follow you around and ask you if you need your foot measured. Do I look 4? Then you won’t be measuring my foot and please get away from me before I pull out my can wasp spray. Sadly, my thrift store shoes aren’t cutting it. I have fallen three times since starting my new job and not just baby slips; full body slams on hard tile usually while holding a hot coffee and always while 67 people are watching. The shoes also cause my right big toe to go numb and the left side of my foot to feel like it’s on fire.

My own personal hell.

My own personal hell.

After my last fall, the hubs started pitching me on getting new shoes and spending whatever it took to ensure I wouldn’t end up with a broken hip or permanent bruises on my ass.

“Will you please just go to a shoe store on your way to work and get something that is non-skid. I don’t even care how much it costs. This many falls is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Because childish banter is the only way I know how to communicate when people want me to do hard things. Like spend money in a real store.

This shoe conversation happened three weeks ago. Since that time I have tried wearing two other pairs of shoes and one pair of snow boots in an attempt to keep myself from having to smile at a stranger and say “No thanks, I’m just looking for some really wide, very comfortable work shoes with the traction of a snow tire and the comfort of walking on a pillow.” You may be surprised to know that I fell while wearing snow boots. I literally fell flat on my ass while walking on a flat surface in boots that are made for slippery, rugged terrain. I had to admit defeat. Plus I had a giant bruise on my left boob and a 6 inch long scratch from tackling a metal counter top during my snow boot fall.

Me. Every fucking day at work.

Me. Every fucking day at work.

After work one day I parked my car in a giant lot, hopped out, and the shoe excursion started sucking right about then. I walked inside and it smelled like leather and overpriced sweat shop sadness and the people working, who I’m sure are lovely people (bless their sweet spirits), immediately yelled in unison, “How are you? What can we help you with?” And because I do really well in social situations I responded with “Thanks” and sprinted like a giraffe being chased by a rabid lion.

The trying on of the shoes just hurts my feelings. My feet are thick and wide and my left foot has some bone on the top of it that was probably left over from my caveman ancestors who didn’t need shoes to feed their family. My toenails are as solid as steel and I have perpetual dead skin growing off my heels that looks like a cracked desert in the middle of August. Fifteen pairs of shoes I tried on, some with memory foam and some that guaranteed my endless comfort yet I couldn’t take two steps without sobbing. I watched a woman try on one pair of pointy toed, high heeled boots and head straight to the checkout and I thought to myself “She’s the kind of person I wish would drown in a vat of meringue. Her and her perfect feet.”

A long and torturous hour later, I decided i had to pick something. In my long running attempt to always be at least one decade behind any fashion trend, I purchased a pair of Doc Marten looking shoes that were worn by every character in 90210 and haven’t been seriously purchased since 1998. If only I could combine them with some Girbaud jeans and a geometrically patterned button up. If only.

These are my work shoes minus the bow. I'll add that later.

These are my work shoes minus the bow. I’ll add that later.

This is where the story should end but it doesn’t because while the shoes were deemed work appropriate and non slippy, they were still painful for the bricks on the end of my legs that most people call feet. What I needed was what most 98-year-old women need…inserts. I haven’t bought a pair of shoes in the last three years that didn’t include a side purchase of inserts. Memory foam, gel, guaranteed for an 8-hour work day…I own them all. When I told my 13-year-old about my sad shoe store experience, her response made me feel like jumping naked into the frozen lake behind our house while wearing my Doc Marten knockoffs.

“So when do you think you will start wearing those nursing shoes that great-grandma wears with the lift on one side?”

So now I really hate my work shoes and I want to burn them, but I already threw away the receipt and walked around on cement with them on. And if I don’t wear them, what else will I pair with my hippie dress and yin/yang choker? #1990sareback

You know you had this on a choker and you wore it all the damn time.

You know you had this on a choker and you wore it all the damn time.