Aaaaand. I’m 36.

Also, I’m hungry already. This does not bode well for fasting.

Ruminations on turning 36

  • eh.
  • the nose really doesn’t ever stop growing, does it?
  • I feel like I’m 26…and not in a “I feel so young!” type of way…in a “what? I’m 36???? But I’m still a kid!!” kind of way.
  • a confession: this adulting thing? I’m kind of bad at it (see above bullet). And not in the ways I thought I’d be bad at it. In relatively superficial ways. Like, I have a house, right? I have NO IDEA how people keep their houses up. We will have lived here for two years as of Sunday and most rooms are pretty much the same that they were six months after we moved in; that is, fairly empty and transitioning. The projects I say I’m going to take on (painting our peeling front porch; painting the rooms we didn’t paint upon moving in; putting art/photographs on the walls; getting furniture; changing out the previous owner’s wicker mirrors in the bathrooms) take a backseat. I now understand how people’s houses very quickly look unkempt…if you don’t get on that shit right away, it’s really really hard to catch up. Yeah, I know I have a two and a half year old (that alone is, like, WHOA) and that makes my time not my own, but other people with small children seem to perfect their houses and buy seasonal flowers to keep outside their front door. I bought an urn of flowers; they died about two weeks in. And they’re still out there.
  • hearing Georgia say, “I wanna help celebrate, mama!” re: my birthday is the sweetest ever.
  • except have I mentioned my birthday is on Yom Kippur? Let me tell ya, that’s always never fun.
  • I sound like a negative nelly right now. And I guess I might just be.
  • 36 is somehow harder than 35.
  • BUT…
  • I have an amazing husband who wants to celebrate me all weekend, a beautiful and hilarious daughter who wants to draw a picture of a cardinal (her request) in my honor and friends and family who love me. So. fasting and atoning and aging aside…it’s a pretty good birthday.
  • here’s to hope and a great year ahead.

Conquering the fear.

I threw up today. I threw up for the first time in over ten years (the first conscious time, anyway…last time was in the middle of my c-section, in the throes of a panic attack).

Those of you who have read this blog for a while know why this is a big deal for me. The emetophobe in me is passed out in the corner, but the rational me is super proud of myself for getting through it with minimal panic.

I did it, you guys! I’m all growns up.


I loved thunderstorms all through my life. Loved. Was comforted by them.

I don’t love them anymore and I think I know why.

As a kid…or even as a young adult living in a rented apartment…it’s fun! It sounds nice, the lights might go out and you can play with your siblings in flashlit forts and things like that. You don’t have to worry about the fact that the power may go out and ugh will you have to throw out EVERYTHING in the fridge and you JUST went grocery shopping and your house might get water in the basement and is everything sufficiently off the floor down there and where are the flashlights anyway and wait we only have one flashlight and your kid and the dog might be scared and ugh the dog has to go out again and oh my god what if there’s a tornado and if there is a tornado oh my god what the hell do we do and all the stuff that I, now an adult, think about whenever there are severe thunderstorms.

This wah-wah moment brought to you by Adult Saddle: Fearful Mother and Homeowner.

Just when I thought I was free…

Jonny has re-upped the hootie and the blowfish earworm.

This might be grounds for divorce.


I’ve been living under a rock a bit these days and am only just now catching up on the news of the shootings at UCSB. Actually, it kind of says something sad to me that in my mind, when I heard the news at first, I was like, sigh…another shooting. Not that I purposely ignored it, just that it’s so unfortunately not shocking anymore.

Now I’m reading all the articles about it and the understandable dialogue that has resulted about misogyny and the “madman” label that has been placed on Rodgers. And it all gets to me. Mental health issues aside, yes, there is another problem here. And yes, it needs to be discussed.

I have been harassed in so many different ways at every point of my young adult to adult life. Hell, I even recall being a child, with my family at a gas station, and the attendant pumping our gas looking in the passenger window and making obscene faces at me. A child. With my parents right there.

I’ve been catcalled and grabbed on the street by random men I didn’t know; I’ve been drugged and almost taken advantage of; I’ve been talked down to and made to feel awful (not to mention scared) for not “giving in” by boys I liked and took home with me; I’ve been called a slut by other boys for having brought the above boys home with me; I’ve been asked about my sex life by a cab driver (so uncomfortably so, I got out of the cab way earlier than my destination); I’ve been sent inappropriate pictures by a work-related contact (to my work email, no less); I’ve been touched by an older, well-to-do man when my husband was looking the other way. From strangers to love interests to men who really should know better, one way or another, I’ve been made to feel uncomfortable more times than I can count. It’s never not been a part of my life. Or any of our lives. Most, if not all of my friends have at least one story. Usually more than one.

And we endure the ridiculous jokes made about women and sex and we downplay the way we are devalued and the way we feel scared and nervous and uncomfortable on a daily basis. And it is wrong. And it is a discussion that should be brought up. And this horrific murder is a good catalyst to that discussion. Let it open the eyes of people who just don’t get it. Men and women alike. Open your eyes and understand. There is an issue here…

There is something more than madness.

Talk about it. Learn from it.


What happened?

Has anyone else watching Portlandia noticed that Fred and Carrie have gotten way too skinny??

What I do.

After almost every single social interaction, be it with strangers or with the best of the bestest friends, I panic about whether I said or did something offensive, stupid, weird or annoying. Sometimes I have a specific example in mind, sometimes it’s just open wonder. Either way, I obsess about it for longer than I care to admit.

That’s some ish, you guys.

Two (completely unimportant) things that are rarely discussed:

1. The genius of Six Feet Under
2. The brilliance of Fiona Apple

Sometimes you just can’t fight it…

I’ve gotten a lot better at this anxiety thing. It hits and most of the time, I get it and can deal with it…even reason my way out of it. Logic solves most anxious moments.

It is so fucking hard to be an adult. An adult with things/people/animals to care for. It’s hard to have a family, immediate/extended/friendship-oriented. The more love you build into your life, the better it is, but the more there is at stake.

There is so much at stake. My heart hurts just thinking about it.

Yes, this is dramatic, but it’s also real. This is where my anxiety hits these days. I am terrified a lot of the time. And granted, we’ve had a few harrowing experiences these past few months (would explain but it’s just too late and I’ve got to go to bed soon) that warranted some fear and luckily resolved themselves well. But what if we’re not so lucky? What else does fate have in store for us? What if I lose everything?

I am terrified.

Sometimes I can really rationalize and talk myself out of it. But tonight, it’s too late and I’m too tired and I’ve seen and read too much and dealt with crap both silly and serious and I’m just….in it. It is there. And it is scary. And I’m trying to fight it, but it’s so hard.

It is so hard.

Overreacting since 1978.

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