We’re about 45 days out from moving to Atlanta. I think I moved maybe three boxes, bought a mirror, two prints and daydreamed for the past five months. It’s pretty much impossible to stay VEGAS, BABY! VEGGGAAAAS! for this long without actually having Vince Vaughn as my daily relocation motivator and fluffer. Because this move is going to be MONEY, baby. MONEY. The packing and the getting rid of even more things is going to blow and I am going to hate every minute of it, but this is a new beginning — a re-do– as much as life can be re-done and made over and created into something that’s been a long time coming: ___________. I struggled with what to actually write in that
To be honest, I am not thrilled at all that my blog could quite possibly be known for two things: douche and vibrators. And to be even more honest, I’m tired as holy hell of looking at that douchey picture. I have other things going on and far more important issues to write about. But I did care enough to write about it and this is why. Here’s the thing about me: how I am here is exactly how I am in really, real life. Which is to say I stand up to and for things. I take unpopular positions if I want to because I can. I’m not interested in popularity or pageviews or likes or follows or branding or, my god, whatever I’m supposed to care
I spent the last two days in Philly. On Friday night, I took the Kid down to the Titanic exhibit at the Franklin Institute and then today we strolled and did the playground thing on South Street. Both are iconic Philadelphia and for almost six months I have been confined to the suburbs and this house. I can now confirm to you that I will never kill myself. Because if there ever was a reason to grab the ol’ noose I leave around for those just in case moments every day of the past six months has been beyond noose worthy. Considering that I’m still here, I’m certain I can live through anything. Even torture. Like intentionally blaring “Call Me Maybe.” We may head back down
Because I don’t have a real update until later, here’s an example of the kind of things I write to myself at 5 am. 300+ days ago.
I don’t know why I worry so damn much. Every time something good happens I am thoroughly shocked that the skies opened and out popped exactly what I wanted. No one is ever as surprised as me when this happens. I am perpetually pessimistic and worried that I am going to die without ever 1) leaving here 2) doing anything 3) finding comfort 4) losing a pound. And the losing a pound isn’t even a top priority, but I thought I would add it. Things do happen though and I am happy for about 30 seconds until I move on and shoot higher. This, I think, is the conundrum of wanting more — and, to be clear we’re not talking about things, we’re talking about moving up
I used to drive around with my friend and, as I looked around completely deflated, she would outline her plans: buy a house around the corner from her parents, get married and raise a family. Right here; where she grew up. Her friends were neighborhood kids: they went to elementary school together, were passengers in her first car and now have children the same age as her young son. She made good on what she wanted and now I have a chance to make good on mine: get the hell out of here. I had very little time to figure my life out before I became a parent and it was dedicated to someone else. I took that responsibility seriously. I gave up concerts, hunkered down and
Today I was asked how I handle writing about controversial topics. My short answer: I check my caring at the door and write away. You have to have tough skin if you want to write about the things I do. I have written about abortion, the Pope, Catholicism, Jesus, guns, Penn State, feminism, the election, etc. I have also committed the holiest sin of Internet Holies and “asked for money.” And I have lived to write another day. Back during the election, I came across this post that pleaded with lady bloggers to, basically, keep their politics off their blogs if they knew what was good for them. It was promised that a mass exit of readers would ensue if coupon bloggers or DIY bloggers