The Friday Diary: December is my happy place

Hey everybody, guess what?!

Today is the LAST Friday of November. Actually it's the last DAY of November altogether. Tomorrow is December.

Can you feel the awesomeness approaching?!

I JUST LOVE WINTER AND DECEMBER SO MUCH IT MAKES ME WANT TO TYPE IN ALL CAPS FOREVER.

Welcome to my happy place.

In December, every day is Friday.

{except Monday. Monday is always Monday, and Monday is always a dick}

...

Letters:

Dear Online Shopping, you're awesome. I don't know how my parents ever did Christmas without you.

Dear Jackson, I love the way your little brain works, and the more words you learn and the more you experiment with how to put them together, the more entertaining it is. I love your four year old chatter.

Dear Lainie, you are all kinds of girl moodiness when I pick you up from school, but around bedtime you get so tired, you're delirious and you laugh at the drop of a hat. Watching you stumble around giggling is pretty awesome. 

...

Old Fashioned:

Lainie wants an iPad. To this, I say hell to the no. I know some kids have them, but that comforts me none. Some kids also have tattoos and piercings at ages when I don't think it's appropriate. I saw a six year old the other day with gauged ears. The fuck?!

iPads are like hundreds of dollars, and I don't think any 9 year old should own something that costs that much money. They're just not ready. 

Hell, my car isn't worth as much as an iPad and I'm surprised I'm allowed to use it every day.

So no. Just no.

...

Pinterested:

I want to do this to my boss SO bad.

...

Read:

Full article here.

And....

"Write a manifesto" by MotleyMama

Read the full post by clicking on the title. It's amazing.

...

Letters To Friends

Dear Friend,

I found one of your pictures the other day. It was completely by accident. I was taking some books off my bookshelf, ones I don't read anymore, to make room for a couple new ones, and then there you were. You slipped out of the covers of an old copy of Madame Bovary and fluttered to the floor, face up, staring at me in a time warp.
It was weird seeing you, since I hadn't in so long. At first I just stared down at your face, pale, how skinny you were then. It must've been winter, you're wearing that god awful brown coat you used to have. Do you still have that? I hope not.
You're standing in my kitchen and smiling. You're asking me why I never have anything in my fridge but green olives. You're inspecting a half eaten bag of Doritos. I'm 17 and I'm standing in my underpants, telling you to fuck off, I can live off green olives if I want to. Giggling like a school girl. Taking your picture.
You turn to me just as I snap the picture and your smile is as wide as a dinner plate. Your teeth are like stars. I loved you then.
But, you know, you changed, I changed, we all fell down.
You came into town a few days after I found your picture and we had dinner.
You put your hand on the small of my back after too many beers.
I kept smoking and felt sad because nothing had changed, but also everything had, and I knew that picture wasn't of you anymore.

Recipe: Chicken Enchilada Soup

Even though I live in Arizona, where the weather doesn't actually change much {but I pretend it does by dressing as if I live in Boston} it occurred to me that not all my readers live in Arizona. Some of you are lucky enough to live places with actual seasons, and it being the end of November, it might actually be cold where you are right now.

Want some soup?

Don't be silly, of course you do.

Chicken Enchilada Soup

1 bag frozen corn

1 can black beans, rinsed and drained

1-2 lbs frozen boneless skinless chicken breast

1 can cream of chicken soup

1 big can of your favorite enchilada sauce

1 can Mexican style stewed tomatoes

Throw all the veggies and beans in the bottom of your crock pot, put the frozen chicken on top, pour the cream of chicken soup over it, and pour the enchilada sauce over top of that, and mix the sauce together just until it's combined.

Cook on low for 4-6 hours or until the chicken is done.

Take the chicken out, shred it with a fork, throw it back in and serve the soup with shredded cheese and sour cream.

Bada bing.

It's the EASIEST soup ever, and it is so good, I literally make myself sick from eating so much of it every time I make it.

The kids love it too and it's in our regular rotation, which means I make it like twice a month at least.

Anyway, I hope y'all stay warm. 

Send me some of your cold weather if you can.

I Miss You

You are seeing other people.

Setting up your online profile. Making sure every line is just right. Choosing pictures that make you look handsome. Some of them are ones I took of you. 

And I am missing you.

You're going out on dates. 

Holding the car door open for a girl you just met. Smiling at her as she giggles nervously after everything you say. Putting your hand on the small of her back, the way you used to put it on mine, as you lead her through a crowded restaurant.

And I miss you.

You are sending clever, witty, perfectly worded text messages to the girl you went out with over the weekend.

Checking in, gauging her interest, making sure she's always wanting more. Showing her a little of the charm, plenty of the humor, the perfect recipe for dizzying adoration.

And I miss you.

You are checking in with me every so often. 

Sending me a text to see how I'm doing. Make sure I'm not going off the deep end or missing work or showers or anything. Keeping things light, trying to stay friends. You aren't in love with me anymore, and you don't want me to get attached, but you feel responsible, so you can't abandon me either. You remain caring but detached.

The friendly stranger.

I know this.

I've accepted this.

But still, I miss you. 

Monday Momisms: Christmas Shopping for Kids

Now that it's after Thanksgiving, I feel like I can finally talk about Christmas without all the Scrooge's out there sighing and groaning 'SERIOUSLY? It's not even THANKSGIVING yet!' 

Screw those people. 

Christmas is amazing and should be talked about early and often.

One of the bestest parts of Christmas is obviously giving presents. Thinking long and hard about what would make the people in your life smile, what would make them happy, browsing store shelves, thinking solely about their joy and pleasure, and then giving them something awesome that really lets them know you know and understand them.

Unless of course you are giving gifts to kids.

Then the whole experience is more of a constant war between wanting to give your kids stuff, and being slightly embarrassed and a little offended by their unashamed asking, begging, pleading and sometimes downright demanding all this material shit that you know they really don't need.

And when they're that young, it doesn't mean that much to them. 

Kids are given gifts all the time. They almost come to expect it. Rarely does a child under the age of 14 {and that could be a stretch because I think really it's more like 21} given a gift that makes them say 'Wow, you really put a lot of thought and effort into this. You really know and understand the true Me. Thank you.'

Nope.

More often than not they get gifts that you spent hours of time and energy picking out, looking for, and working to earn the money to buy, and all they say is 'Ooh, more shit! Thanks!'

Sadly with some kids you're lucky if you even get the 'thanks'

And you're left standing there thinking 'That's it?!'

Not that you gave them gifts for praise and recognition {not entirely anyway} but it always sucks when you work hard to make someone feel special and cared about, and they just see it as more attention being lavished upon them. Nothing special or different. They're kids. It's what everyone does for kids.

Suddenly you have flashbacks of that boy you were just SO in love with in middle school. The popular one who had hair like Jonathan Taylor Thomas and eyes like a mystical being of gorgeousness and popularity. The time you stayed up all night handcrafting a gorgeous and well made Valentine for him, along with a mixed tape of ALL his favorite songs, and a few he probably hasn't heard but you know he will like, and when you offer it all to him with sweaty hands and a nervous giggle, he smiles and says 'Thanks' and saunters away, leaving you feeling empty, unappreciated and in need of more deodorant.

Not cool.

So in order to avoid that, this year I am sticking to a new four gift rule for the kids.

Well, I revised it a bit so really it's a five gift rule, but still.

It goes like this:

1 thing they want

1 thing they need

1 thing they wear - this can be a whole outfit, or even more clothes as long as they're clothes your child actually needs.

1 thing they read

And my revision is 1 thing that they want more than anything else in the entire world.

I think it's brilliant. They get two things that they want that are just purely materalistic, and that's ok. But they also get something they need that they will also like, something to read because I think kids should be surrounded by books, flooded with music, and all that should be punctuated lightly with movies and TV. Mainly when Mommy needs a hangover nap and you don't want your four year old burning the house down.

What?

Anyway, so far this rule has made Christmas shopping SO much easier, and I think it's something I'll be sticking to in the future. 

How do you shop for people?

Our Thanksgiving

My super sweet surrogate sister Jenn came over and drank wine with me in the kitchen while I cooked, and Jackson watched movies and Lainie played with baby Theron.

Really that was all I could've asked for.

And after the mashed potatoes, sausage stuffing, candied yams, fried asparagus, herb butter turkey and two kinds of pie were all finished, I fell asleep thinking it was a pretty good Thanksgiving.

Hope yours was as good as mine. 

A Guide to Holidays With Dysfunctional Families

You all know I come from a weird family.

You all know that my relationship with said family is a bit of a roller coaster on normal days, and when a holiday comes along it can be a recipe for disaster.

Now that I have 25 years of holidays with these people under my belt, I want to bestow my knowledge and wisdom upon you.

1. Have lots of alcohol on hand. This will come in handy when your mother asks you in that not to supportive tone if you've "found a boyfriend yet", the yet hovering in the air like tiny nuclear bomb. You don't know when it's going to destroy your planet, but it will. Have a drink.

2. Play some music. Play it loudly so as to drown out the rising chorus of everyone talking over each other at the top of their voices about why Democrats are evil or how many marshmallows you should put on the candied yams.

3. Invite a friend. When we grow up, we all make our own chosen family. We find our people, and they understand us, love us, support us, and know all about the people we had before them who hurt us in all the fragile and intangible ways Family is known to do.

4. Avoid cutlery and sharp objects.

5. Come up with a mantra. Something calming that you can repeat to yourself over and over. Something along the lines of "I do not want to go to prison over one of these assholes" should do the trick when creepy Uncle Ned grabs your ass after his fifth Scotch and water and asks you if you remember how to say anything in French, because you took that one semester of it your freshman year of high school.

No, Ned, I do not know how to speak French, and I am not going to prison for stabbing you with a cocktail sword in the carotid artery.

6. Try to laugh. Of course you don't want to look at the macaroni art you made at the Children of Alcoholics Weekend Camp you had to go to while Mommy was "resting" 16 year ago, but your dad is going to pull it out anyway and try to make you put it on. Try to laugh and remember that at least it wasn't you who was in rehab.

7. Have another drink.

8. Remember that for whatever reason, these people are your family. No, you didn't choose them, but you were born with them and therefore now obligated to eat 3 pounds of turkey, drink hard alcohol and fall asleep in fancy clothes on their living room floor.

9. Write down some good things to bring up in your next ACA meeting. If you're going to be there you might as well get something out of it.

10. If all else fails, stand up and announce you're writing a detailed, tell all book about your childhood. Everyone will avoid you forever.

Happy Thanksgiving.

What I Wish Being a Writer Meant

I wish being a writer meant that I was emotionally stable.

That I didn't change my mind every couple days, or worse, every couple hours.

That I wasn't so sensitive and emotional that I'm able to make myself cry by just sitting around thinking too much, for too long.

I wish being a writer meant that I was unaffected.

I wish it meant that I was prone to being conscious of my health, and that I enjoy eating salad for at least one meal per day. I wish it meant that cigarettes never appealed to me, and alcohol was something I sipped gingerly on when I went to a bridal shower, or toasted my best friend's promotion, and not something that goes so well with the creative process that when people hear "writer" they generally assume "alcoholic".

I wish being a writer meant I had secrets. I wish it meant that my entire personal life and every experience I've ever had could stay safely tucked away beneath my collar bones, only given out in small excerpts to the closest of friends. Instead it means that every kiss, every heartbreak, every insult, every tear and every wound is bursting and jumping and rattling around inside me, and the only way to quiet it all down, is to write it.

And now everybody knows.

I wish being a writer was a normal job that came with a reliable income. Something a single mother could raise her babies on. More than that I wish being a writer didn't make taking an office job and kissing up to suits all day long feel so much like slowly suffocating.

I wish writing was romantic, easy, the process as poetic and beautiful as the end result {sometimes} is.

I wish being a writer meant I can always write. Whenever I want, any time, about anything I need to write about.

I wish it wasn't so depressing when I sometimes can't write.

But being a writer means that some days, I am a writer and some days, I am a normal person.

Most days, even if I am not writing, I am a writer.

Tomorrow I Will

Tomorrow I will dress appropriately for social interaction, instead of leaving the house in clothes that resemble my pajamas as closely as possible.

I will take my headphones and sunglasses off, make eye contact with people and smile.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will put the laundry away, and stop this perpetual circular dance around the laundry basket that I do every morning, digging like a pig for truffles to find outfits for me and the kids.

Tomorrow I will stop moping. I will pick myself up and dust myself off and say "so what?" every time the sadness backs up in my throat and tries to push tears down my cheeks.

So what.

Tomorrow I will stop smoking.

Tomorrow I will interact with my co-workers. I will be pleasant and friendly and maybe have lunch in the company of others, instead of by myself with headphones and a book so that no one will speak to me.

Tomorrow I will stop writing such depressing shit.

Tomorrow I will start writing the book that I've been saying I might write someday. I'm going to write it now.

Now as in tomorrow, I mean.

Tomorrow I am going to get my shit together.

I'm going to move on, move forward.

I'm going to be better and stronger and faster and completely free from the tangled branches I continue to let hold me down.

I will be put together, polished, professional, and all other positive adjectives that start with P.

Tomorrow I will do better.

Tomorrow.

But today...today is a very hard day.

The Friday Diary: 10 Little Randoms

It's been an interesting week.

Somewhere in the beginning of the week, a disgusting cold decided to make itself at home in my body and never leave.

Ugh. I hate being sick, and anyone who knows me can tell you that I am the worlds BIGGEST baby when I am sick. I promise you my friends have heard about nothing other than my awful symptoms for the last three days.

For that reason, todays diary will be short, random, and otherwise non-sensical.

But what's new?

1. 
This song has been on steady repeat on my iPod for days now. Catchy, sexy, gangster and girly, all at the same time. Sing it, sister!

2. Found on Pinterest, an article from a 1942 issue of Life magazine, teaching you how to kiss:

Awesome. Where was this all my life?

3. Next Friday, my dear friend Camdon is coming to town from Ohio, and I could not be more excited to hang out with him. Camdon has known me since I was 17, and for all we've been through (break ups, divorces, military enlistments and almost getting arrested in the desert) he is and always will be one of my favorite people.

4. Funny Business:

This is going to be me someday.

5. I recently decided that I am going to go to London. I want to travel more, and for whatever reason I've always felt like I didn't want to travel-at least not out of the country-if I wasn't in a relationship, because I always thought it would make me sad to go exploring like that by myself. But fuck that. I'm going. Maybe on a backpacking trip, maybe on a cruise through Northern Europe. Maybe I'll bring a friend, maybe I will go alone. The point is, I'm going. I'm giving myself 18 months to save up for it, and then I'm doing it. You know why? Because this is life and I'm deciding to live it.

6. I realized today that Thanksgiving is a week away. Actually, less than a week away. Remember last Thanksgiving, y'all? Yeah. Better stock up on wine and mood stabelizers now, because nothing spells dysfunction like holidays in Sarah's house!

7. I learned on Thursday that chocolate shakes when you're sick do not help cheer you up at all, if you're so sick you cannot taste the chocolate shake. I also subsequently lost my will to survive this cold.

8. I also learned Thursday night that you shouldn't send emotional texts to people after taking NyQuil, because they might think you're about to kill yourself, and get worried when you fall asleep and don't hear them texting to make sure you're alive. On the brightside, sometimes they call and tell you you're secretly Irish, and send you pictures of baby bears.
Or maybe I dreamed that.
Either way, not a bad night.

9. There is no number 9

10. Coming up with 10 things to say was really hard after like number 5. I guess I could've stopped there, but the friday diary has been so disappointing lately, and I just couldn't leave you all with yet another piece of crap post. So, I tried. OH! I guess I could tell you about how none of the men in my office are allowed to shave their mustache for the entire month of November, and shit is getting straight creepy up in there. But I can't show you pictures of any of the creeper creeps, so I guess it's not that interesting.

Anyway, happy Friday.

Things I Have to Remember Not to Forget

The way Jackson's face looks when he first wakes up in the morning, and he is in such a happy, sweet mood.

+

How good it feels to come home at the end of a full work day, and put my pajamas on.

+

Being held. Especially when you need to be held really badly.

+

The very first sip of the very first cup of coffee on Monday morning.

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Chocolate, in all it's forms.

+

Hugs from Lainie.

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The sound of my kids sleeping. The hush of their breathing that sounds just like waves kissing the shore in the middle of the night.

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Turning the heat on for the first time in the Fall.

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Slow dancing with a man that loved me. The heavy warmth of his hand on the small of my back, the smell of his shirt, swaying in the music, even if it was only the music in our hearts.

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Falling in love. Because even if it ends in heartbreak, the falling feels so good. The addiction, the passion, the reckless abandon and utter adoration. The sweet secure feeling that hangs warm and heavy from the bottom of your heart, so that even when you're alone, you feel safe. You're being taken care of, thought about, loved.

+

Goodbye, and how much it hurts. Maybe if I could remember how goodbye feels, I wouldn't take now for granted so easily.

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Sleep.

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Kisses.

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Hot showers.

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Now. I'm alive, I'm here, I have two little kids who are still little, a job that's still interesting, and a heart that's still beating.

One day, I won't. All this breathing and eating and laughing and hurting and loving will be over, and I will want a little bit of now to remember, savor, and hold onto when the dark comes down.



How It Happens

It will happen one night, seemingly unexpectedly.

Or maybe I'll see it coming, but pretend I don't. You'll text me and ask how my day was, I will respond over eagerly and tell you it was good, busy, but good, because I think that sounding busy means I sound important and self possessed, when really I wonder all day long when I'll hear from you again. You'll say yours was good too, and then ask if you can stop by for a minute.

My heart will hit the pit of my stomach because I will wonder if you're about to do what you are about to do, but I will say Sure, and throw a little smiling face emoticon at the end as if I am completely unaware. Later I'll wonder if that smiley face, that blind trust made you feel guilty for what you were coming over to do to me, but I will shake it off and tell myself you didn't care.

You'll show up at exactly the time you say you will.

I will brush my teeth, change my shirt and try to do something with my hair in the ten minutes I have to wait for you. And then pace around in front of the door for the remaining three. 

When I answer I'll smile and you'll force yourself to smile, and we'll exchange a hug but not a kiss because we both know why you're here.

And in the nicest words you can think of, you will break my heart.

You will tell me it doesn't feel right, or that you aren't in love anymore, or that you don't see this going anywhere. You'll blame the age difference, the past, my mistakes, your divorce.

You'll say you hope we stay friends, I will tell myself not to ask you to stay.

In twenty minutes or less, you will pull the loose thread in the fabric of our future and unravel the whole goddamned thing.

And I will pick up the pile of thread and scraps of promises, take them inside and box them up. Like someone who can't leave a dead animal in the middle of the road, and endures the stench in their car while they try to find a decent place to bury it.

Because it deserves that much, at least.

In all the dreams that wake me from my sleep, this is how it happens.

Sarah's Favorite Things

So It's that season again where it's acceptable to watch Christmas movies all day on Sunday, and you have to start freaking out about what to get people for Christmas. 

I for one, have major gift giving anxiety. 

I spend forever thinking about it, trying to come up with the PERFECT gift, and then, all of a sudden in a flash of brilliance it comes to me! 

I run to the store, yank the gift off the shelves, throw money at the teenage cashier like he's a first world problem, and dash home feeling so so so excited to have found the ONE gift that is better than all other gifts for that person.

But somewhere along the ride home, I start to second guess myself.

It's a stupid present, I think.

They won't get what I was trying to say with it, I tell myself.

Suddenly all the whimsy or humor or charm or inside joke perfection of this present has worn off.

It is the most vile and terrible gift in the world. What. The fuck. Was I thinking? 

It's even more awful than it sounds.

Anyway, while I can't help you come up with shit to buy for everyone in your life, I can help you come up with shit to buy for the girls in your life. 

At least the girls that are like me.

Maybe you know a girl like me, who has a blog, and is obsessed with bears, Grey's Anatomy and Alice in Wonderland, who'd rather hang out with good books than most people.

Maybe you know a girl who IS me, and you're trying to decide what to get me, and have yet to look at my Pinterest account. 

In any case, I've put together a little gift giving guide of Sarah's Favorite Things, which should save the day for certain. Good luck, and happy consumerism. 

Girly Things:

Necklace//perfume//boots//watch

Book Worm Things:

The Perks of Being a Wallflower//The Night Circus//Franny and Zooey//Big Sur

Nerdy Things:

Alice in wonderland nesting dolls//lens kit//Grey's Anatomy Soundtrack #3//Madhatter's Sign

Things Only I Would Want As An Actual Gift:

Lainie's Happy Birthday: #9

 Some serious girl talk going on here!!!

Dear Lainie,

Yesterday you turned 9. Wow. Nine years ago yesterday, at a little after 5 in the morning, you came into the world. And what an impact you had, little girl.

You changed the lives of everyone around you.

For the better, I promise.

And now here you are: a funny, sometimes goofy, always brilliant, sweet little girl who tries so hard to take care of everyone around her. You'd make a great doctor or nurse someday.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by all the things I want to teach you, all the things I want to make sure you know, that sometimes when you ask me a question I think "Oh my God, I haven't taught you that yet?! I'm behind! I'm running out of time!" There is simply, I think, too much to know.

And I know you can't learn it all from me, but some things I want to make sure you do.

So here are a few rules that you absolutely must live by. It is no way a complete list, and I'm sure by your next birthday there will be more, but it's a start.

1. A boy who is nice to you but rude to the waiter, is not a nice boy.

2. You can use black beans in almost every recipe. Always keep them in the house.

3. You may never get every part of a meal done at the same time. Stop stressing about that.

4. Don't ever share mascara, eye liner or underwear with your friends.

5. A date should get out of the car and ring the doorbell. Not text you from the car, or God forbid honk the horn when he arrives. You're a lady, not a to-go waitress at Chili's.

6. Be sweet to your brother, and he'll be the boy who's always there when some other boy breaks your heart.

7. When you're really really mad at someone, write them an email. Write it all down, read it once, take a deep breath, and then delete it. Written words never go away. Don't let your momentary hate and anger live forever in writing.

8. Just because you mean it, and just because you may be right, doesn't mean you should say it.

9. Whenever you put on a dress, bend over in front of the mirror. If it's questionable, wear leggings.

10. You have to live with your choices at the end of the day. You won't feel any better about being mean and hurtful to someone just because they deserved it.

11. If it feels wrong, it's wrong, regardless of what anyone else tries to tell you. Listen to your first initial reaction to something, not all the ways your tempted mind may try to talk you in or out of it afterward.

12. You're going to be a different person about 125 times between now and the person you end up being for the rest of your life. Remember that when choosing tattoos, life partners and credit cards with interest rates higher than 0.

13. You can get away with not showering for a day or two, or even wearing the same outfit twice without re-washing it, but you cannot, CANNOT get away with skipping deodorant and teeth brushing.

14. You can run on empty on Friday, so feel free to stay up late watching movies and eating junk food Thursday night, because you only have one more day to get through before the weekend.

15. It really is the little things in life.

16. Make it an adventure, and it will never be boring.

17. Specialize obsessively, have lots of favorite things, fall in love with stuff that no one else cares about. Just have passion. It doesn't always matter what for.

18. Change your mind, change your hair, change your clothes, go by a different name in high school, move around a lot after college. Change is good.

19. Be nice to the broken and damaged people. The ones who deserve love the least are the ones who need it the most.

20. Your mother loves you the most, remember that.

Happy 9th birthday, little one. I am SO glad you were born.

The Friday Diary: For Lainie

Oh, Hello Friday. I've missed you.

This week I am even more glad than usual for it to be Friday. Partially because I have the day off {holler}, but mostly because this Sunday is Lainie's birthday, and today being Friday means that I can stop thinking about work, and go to my happy place of planning her birthday.

I love birthdays, y'all.

I love making people feel special, and the idea that everyone gets one day out of the year that's just for them. A day where the people who love them show up and say "I'm glad you were born".

That might seem like a small or silly thing to tell a person, but if you've ever felt not to glad to be born, or been told that maybe you shouldn't have been born by someone important, you know just what a big deal it is to hear those words.

So, in short, I guess the Friday Diary won't be a huge deal this week. I need to go plan a good day for my little girl, who always tries so hard to make the people she loves happy.

Have an awesome weekend. 

The Kind of Writer Who Writes Books

People are always telling me that I should write about my childhood. “It would make such a good book!” they say.
Usually shortly after stating how utterly depressing hearing about it was. I’m not sure how the words “utterly depressing” always conjure the idea of “such a good book”, but for whatever reason they do.
For years I’ve responded to this pressure otherwise known as friendly advice, the same way: I smile and shrug and say “I’m not the kind of writer who writes books”, and then I sit back and enjoy the confused expression on the face of whoever is probing into my creative process.
The truth is, I probably could write a book, if I felt the need to. At least I think so, because that’s how I write poetry, and whatever it is you would call all the other things I write. I feel the need, and I can do it.
The other thing that’s always stopped me is that I don’t remember my childhood. Or more accurately, I don’t remember the specifics of my childhood. I don’t remember if we were living in Santa Rosa or San Rafael when my sister and I were chased by the rattlesnake that my dad chopped up with a shovel. I don’t remember if I was 5 or if I was 6 when my mother left during my afternoon nap, not to return for a long time (but how long exactly?), leaving the house smelling of overcooked meatloaf and abandonment. I don’t remember if it was the first Christmas after she disappeared, or the second, when she showed up suddenly on Christmas Eve, dropped off an armful of gifts and disappeared again without a word. I only remember how my childhood felt. I know the stories, some of them because I actually remember them, but more of them because I’ve heard them so many times, but better than all of that, I remember how it felt. How though, to paint a picture of how it felt, without putting images that aren’t exactly true in place of the actual memories, to represent whatever it was that happened whenever it was that it happened, that made me feel the way I remember always feeling? How do I tell a story I don’t remember, without lying to you, just to get my point across? And where is the line between artistic representation, and a boldfaced lie? I guess the same place where the line between exploiting and exalting the people in your life for the sake of “your art” is.

Maybe it’s easier to just say I’m not the kind of writer who writes books.



How to Stay Home on Friday Night

1. Don't check your Facebook. This will inevitably be the Friday night where every other person in the world, is going out doing something awesome. All the other Friday's that you went out and got stupid, your entire friends list was staying home "having a nice quiet night in with the fam!" But the night you decide to stay home, they're all out fighting tigers and scuba diving and the barrier reef and partying with Ke$ha on Batman's party bus. This will not make you feel better about curling up with a bag of Dorito's and your Netflix instant queue. 

2. Don't text the friends that you have who still go out and party like 18 year olds. They will ask what you're doing, and then give you endless amounts of shit about it until you want to kill yourself. You will briefly consider ripping off your faded flannel pajama pants, donning your mini skirt and chasing them down at the club. Don't do that. Staying home is good for you. Be strong.

3. Make sure you have plenty to do. Buy a new book, rent some movies, get an awesome pair of pajamas and squishy socks, and as much shitty food as you can eat before you vomit. Surround yourself with little things that make you happy. That's why you're staying home, remember? To make YOU happy, all on your own, without booze or fake friends, glittery meaningless distractions. 

4. Don't feel like a loser. When that mental dialogue starts, stop it. You're doing something profoundly good for you. Learn to be alone and be ok with it. Learn to be alone and have a great time. Get some extra sleep, do your body a favor and have some ice water instead of Vodka water, and remember how fun reading Cosmo is while watching Sex in the City.

5. Start a Pinterest account.

6. Write a handwritten letter to a friend.

7. Feel smug and self entitled about how grown up and mature you are, staying home and making physically and financially wise decisions.

8. Last but not least, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, start drinking. Drinking alone on a Friday night will not only make you feel like a complete and total creepy ass loser, but it's a slippery slope that inevitably ends with you drunk dialing your friends, Pizza Hut, all your ex-boyfriends and buying footy pajamas with cats on them on Amazon. 

No drinking.

Listen to This: The Kooks

Do you like The Neon Trees? What about Bon Iver, Of Mice and Men, and that band that sings "I believe in a thing called love" who's name I can't remember right now?
Then you'll love the Kooks.
Poppy, British,  fun and intelligent. You can dance to them, make out to them, and feel indie and cook while they blare out the windows of your 72 Chevy pick up that you drive around feeling important and pensive.

In a word, they're awesome. Listen to them and become a better person.

A Brief History of Best Friends

I've had a lot of friends in my life. I've met a lot of people, and I've lost a lot of people, and I've learned that friendships-at least between girls- can be just as tenuous if not more so than intimate relationships with lovers. If you've ever read like even one single other post from this blog, you know I love Grey's Anatomy. It's a medical show, which makes the medi-nerd in me happy, but more than that it's a show about relationships, and how they define us. How they shape us, change us, carry us through the bad times, and help us get from one day to the next. I love, of course, Meredith and McDreamy's torrid love affair {largely because of how closely it resembles me and Bill's relationship} but more than that I think it's Meredith and Cristina's friendship that always holds my attention. 

They are the truest definition of best friends.

They fight, they piss each other off, they put their jobs and their boyfriends first sometimes, but they're each other's person, and they would do anything, without question or second thought for each other. They tell each other the mistakes they make without any fear of rejection or judgment, and they call each other on their bullshit without any fear of it ruining the bond they have.

I've always wanted a friendship like that.

I've come close before, I think.

Friends that have listened to all my heartbreaks and fuck ups and bad decisions, nodded understandingly at hearing my mistakes, and always answered their phone when I fell on my ass yet again. But I always end up compartmentalizing my friends in some way. Friends I can tell this to, but not that. Friends I'll open up to about these things, but not those. Friends I can go out with and ones I go to the movies with, and ones I go to dinner with, and ones I stay home on Friday nights with. More importantly, friends I will drink with and friends I will only ingest coffee in the presence of. 

Outside of an intimate relationship with someone I am in love with, I have yet to find an all encompassing friendship with someone of the same gender. A best girlfriend. 

For that reason, I hesitate to call someone my "best friend", and if I do, it's in a situation where I call all my friends my best friends. Because they are. They are all the very best at the things that they do. 

But still I wonder what it's like to have that one very absolute best girlfriend. The one who will be my maid of honor at my wedding without question, the one who I can call my person, and know that no matter what, they're in my corner. 

I guess I'm looking for my Cristina Yang. The person that if I killed someone, she's the one I'd call to help me drag the body across the living room floor. 

What about you?

Do you have a best friend?

The Friday Diary: Halloween and Junk

Happy Friday everyone.

I want to apologize for the complete lack of posting lately. It was a weird week {side eye: pms and ever present Halloween candy}. I promise to do better next week. I already have a couple good posts scheduled, so, hold onto your reading hats!

I'm already sorry that I said that.

Moving on.

...

Letters:

Dear Halloween Candy, You are one of the reasons I had kids.

Dear New Neighborhood, I am torn between wanting you to get more kids so we're not one of like two families out trick or treating, and wanting you to stay this way forever because I'm pretty sure we got like all your candy. 

Dear Jackson, You stole something from the grocery store and I made you take it back and apologize to the manager. You didn't seem very shaken by this. Only pissed that you didn't get to keep the shit you stole. Where did I go wrong in my parenting?

...

Overheard:

Bill: Once girls start dating, they want to spend like all their time with the guy, then once they spend all their time with him, they want to live together, then once they live together, they want to get married, then once they get married, they want to make like a blood pact or something. Who knows what comes after that.

I hate boys.

Especially the ones I love.

...

Read:

Full article here.

This thing cracked me up in that "it's funny cuz it's sad cuz it's true" sort of way. 

...

Pinterested:

Word.

...

Made:

Recipe here. 

Not gonna lie, it was a little anticlimactic. Maybe I seriously fucked something up, I don't know, but I just did not love it. 

...

Alright, now for the Halloween photo dump:

It's nearly impossible to get a picture of Jackson that isn't blurry. Lainie is missing so many teeth she can barely eat solid foods, but I can't feel all that bad for her because she's so freaking cute with her toothless little grin.

Happy Friday, homies.