Oh, Raw Honey, look at you sitting there waiting for me! I heard you whispering for me to come over, Raw Honey. And you are sounding soooo really, very good to me right now. Let’s get better acquainted in a situation involving bread and butter, m’kay?
What the hell, Raw Honey…
Why would you toy with me so, Raw Honey? Why would you sit there, practically beckoning to me with your sweet, delicious Raw Honeyness… and then… and then… be… EMTPY?
How cruel you are, Raw Honey!
How. Very. Cruel. You have hurt me deeply, Raw Honey.
*deep, heavy sobs*
What is that you say, Raw Honey? You mean, you didn’t do this to me on purpose? You say it was beyond your control, Raw Honey? You were just sitting there, being Raw Honey and someone came along and emptied all the delicious Raw and sweet Honey inside of you out?
You are telling me that someone scraped you clean, selfishly enjoying every last drop of you, Raw Honey? Someone didn’t share you, but just ate you all in private? Someone ELSE did this to you and then PUT. YOU. BACK?
Just to fool me?
What is that you say, Raw Honey? Yes, Raw Honey, you are right, I *am* feeling rather stabby.
Don’t worry, Raw Honey. I’ll get even. I make all the meals around here after all, right, Raw Honey? People eat what I prepare, without question.
What is that, Raw Honey? You say there’s a funny tone to my laugh? Oh, Raw Honey, just ignore that. Everything is just fine. I am in a peaceful state, don’t you worry. Just overlook the strange new element in my laughter, Raw Honey. I promise, I’m okay. You just rest. Shhh, shhhh, now, Raw Honey.
Someone else better watch his Raw Honey Thieving, Trickin’ a Bitch Ass, though, Raw Honey.
But you? You just sleep now, Raw Honey. Shhhh.
<rambling post of awesomeness>
I have had way too much fun lately. In fact, I told John that I was pretty sure I’m going to die soon and this is The Universe’s way of saying, “Oh, hey, sorry about that…” ahead of time. A lot of times The Universe is a total dickhead, but I can imagine that maybe sometimes it gets bummed out about what a shit it is and tries to be cool to you to make up for it.
It’s kind of like how I pretend to be nice to John every once in a while when I realize I’ve been a total hole for months on end. Cause, you know, a few hours of not actually saying anything derogatory and smiling a lot can make up for endless weeks of torture and passive aggressive quips blended with just out and out aggressive combativeness and demanding, controlling, and manipulative domestic behavior.
God help him if he complains though; then I’m all, “DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THE TIME THAT I HANDED YOU A NAPKIN WHEN YOUR FACE WAS DIRTY? I BLEED FOR YOU, INGRATE.”
Or something. But, basically, I know not to push The Universe and all, because it’s just doing the best it can, damnit. Ya dig?
So. Yeah. The Universe is clearly trying to be nice to me because it feels bad about my impending doom.
Either that or it is going to plan such a fiery, explosive and painful ending for me that getting me all complacent and mellow first will make things that much funnier for the bastard when it all goes down. The Universe is probably sitting in a dark room rubbing his hands together, and he’s all, “This stupid bitch has NO IDEA what’s in store for her, man. It.is.going.to.be.EPIC. I am totally going to photograph the look on her face and Twitpic it when she gets hers. MUAHAHAHAH.”
Um. Wow, The Universe just went from being a maybe, kind-of dickhead to a completely sadistic psychopath in my mind. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve been into the caffeine again. Also the wine. Maybe a little of the blow powdered sugar.
What the hell was the point of this post? Oh, yeah. I’ve been having fun lately – making new friends in our neighborhood, going out with girls I actually like, and generally, well, not being locked in my house like a socially inept, loser ho-bag.
That is, I’ve been pretending I’m not a socially inept, loser ho-bag, and nobody is on to the deception yet, so clearly I am up for the next Academy Award. (note to self: do not marry Jesse James any time soon)
Last Wednesday, in another installment of Happy Fun Times I Should Feel Guilty About (don’t worry, I got mine) I went to an Open House at Beleza Medspa with some lady friends: Blythe (Aka @Bejewell) and Leigh. We needed to learn about ways you can change what nature does to your body, and instead, make it all fake and HOT.
Apparently, Blythe and Leigh were getting drunk for free while they were waiting for me to arrive late (people start drinking to cope with the fact that they miss me, I’m that awesome) (either that or they drink to cope with the fact that I’m about to arrive) and once I got there, we went to a back room to find out about the process of having your facial skin turned from haggarific to Goddess Sheen of Awesometasticness.
This process is also known, to lesser degree, as Let’s Burn Your Ugly Face Off. You’ll only have to hide in a cave for about 4-6 days while all the skin flakes off as if you have some horrible and contagious disease. But after that? YOU WILL BE BEAUTIFUL. It’s a metamorphosis. You have to let your inner butterfly out… by KILLING THE SHIT OUT OF THAT CATERPILLAR we like to call your real face.Read More»
they say it flies
often it rolls and tears
sometimes it creeps
and sneaks quickly, while you are distracted
it’s a flower that
drops its petals
far too quickly
you look around you
and they are scattered
like the pieces of your soul
changes explode all around
milestones rip past you
things you try to cling to are lost
others are found, unexpectedly
nostalgia will mock
serendipity can tease
the man holding the hourglass
has a snide grin
a cruel, jagged laugh
we all struggle to make sure
the joke is not on us
but when the laughter fades,
what side of the punchline will you be on?
always, we are progressing
through the stages of life
whether we resist the movement
or just flow
time pushes your existence
along a path that isn’t paved, but
being created by your own passage
do your feet drag lines down
or are there hand prints
indicating that you did
cartwheels along the way?
your life, like time
tumbles by swiftly
and often quietly
if you let it
like the life of that flower
from bud to fragrant memory.
try to stop and notice
those moments when
it is in bloom
just as often as we note
the petals that fall.
April 26th rolled past me, as it did you. It brought pain and joy and all things in between to him and her and them and the others. It was a day, and we all walked into and out of it, just like we do so many others. Some days leave their marks on you and those marks, be they soft lip prints or jagged, deep carvings, stain you. This is Life’s Tattoo. This is the one that can’t be removed; you just have to learn to live with your new ink. You may even find beauty in it.
I thought about this baby several times on this past day that happened like they all do, as clocks everywhere mark the time that slides by without any effort. It has been 2 years since that first miscarriage, the one that opened the door on a special kind of fear and loathing, and introduced me to the doubt of my female body. On this day I wondered, as I have so many times, who that one could have been if conditions had been just right. I sometimes stare off into nowhere, eyes distant, face slack, thinking these thoughts. Then I sigh deeply and swallow a lump in my throat; my hand may wipe at a tear that rolls absently. Other times I feel a peace, a moving on, an acceptance.
My world feels different than it used to so many moons ago. I am changed. There are some wonderful differences and there are, scattered about, some not so fabulous ones. These things, the changes both good and bad, are all just a part of the What Is. I can handle that. I can roll with it and still find a reason to be, see a splendor in life. It’s always there, waiting for me to rediscover it.
There have been times I didn’t think that was possible – that I’d be able to see beauty and feel bliss in life again, be able to even care if it was there or not. But I hold that knowledge, that truth, close to me now, as I live and breathe. This tender awareness seems to sit in the palm of my hot hand like a smooth pebble. It holds weight and feels cool against my skin. I like it; it grounds me.
I have learned another truth during this time, as well. A less fabulous one, I’m afraid. In every situation during the past two years where I have said to a group of women (of any size) that I have had miscarriages, at least one of them always shares that she has had one, also. There are too many of us. Why does it never fail to shock me, even though I know well by now how often it happens?
To all of you who have experienced this or other painful loss, I thought about you today, too. I felt sadness and tension, and then I released it. I sought the love and peace in my heart. After soaking it in for awhile, I released that into the universe, too.
I hope it finds you, much like a cool pebble that might just land, unexpectedly, in your upturned palm.
His very first cone of ice cream to eat all on his own was a waffle cone bigger than his head. He loved it deeply.
It loved him back. They became one in a melty explosion of chocolate toddler happiness.
You just can’t stand in the way of a love so deep (and sticky) as this – you just put it outside, watch the sweet carnage unfold, laugh and take lots of photos.
Mark it down on the list of fun stuff I’ll miss witnessing one day.
The next time you see me here, I’ll be back where I left my heart years ago.
Heading back to live in Austin, my friends. With a huge grin plastered across my face.
I’m sure I’ll be tweeting all along the way there, so if you’re interested in coming along, follow me on Twitter!
I am so, so, so happy.
Oh the roads we have traveled. And oh, those we have yet to travel! They stretch out before me in my mind. They’re sometimes long and winding, but more often, lately, so straight and fast that I can see the endpoint like a sudden, bracing hug and it takes my breath away. That place on the horizon where the road blisses out is bursting with warm sun, calling me.
There is so much going on right now, a flurry of to dos and plans and please let this work outs, that I can’t even begin to tell you about it all. I want to tell you. Of course, I will. In just a little while. My thoughts are racing along so far and so fast, ahead of me on that straight-shot road, being drawn to the place where my heart lies in wait. When it all snaps together just right, I’ll calm down, take a deep breath, and let my fingers do the work of spilling the proverbial beans here.
For now, my feet are getting tangled under me as I dart this way and that in nervous anticipation and fervent getting readiness. It’s quite a dervish of a whirlwind that’s whipping me around currently.
Luckily, in the breaks between spinning and racing and running around with far too much to think about and much, too much, to do, Braden and I have private dance parties to the music of The Beatles in our living room. There is generally an abundance of giggling. (You can dance really stupidly when there’s no one but a 3 year old watching, and it doesn’t matter.) Often, there is falling down on the floor silliness to be had, as well. And sharing a moment or two of just being.
Life, contrary to what you may have heard, is good.