Sunday, April 12, 2015

Pinterest Paradox

Hullo peeps!

I'm back! I was trying to figure out why I haven't written anything since February and then I realized it was because of eight weeks of a germ circus + three children and all the fun that entails.

Extremely accurate representation of my life for the past few months.

Despite the relative awfulness, I happy to report I haven't fallen into any deep, dark pits of despair lately, nor have I been whiling away my time on the interwebs (which is my usual fallback when life gets shitty). I recently started Pinteresting again, though, and was kind of weirded out by the "Picked For You" thing. How long have they been doing that, anyway? Six months? A year? Because I HATE IT. Thanks to their Internetty voodoo, my board is now crammed with bikinis, stretch mark remedies (MEAN!), motivational fitness quotes and Oreo-Snickers-brownie-peanut butter recipes.

Oh, and quotes. Sooo many quotes. Pinterest picked this one for me:


Nice.

And there's also things like "How to Be a Hands-Off Parent" right next to "Two Million Ways to Be All Up In Yo' Toddler's Biz So They Never Learn to Entertain Themselves", and then of course in between all that there's requisite Pinterest-y things like hairstyles requiring at least twenty seven fingers, perfect makeup *coughphotoshopcough*, clothes I can't afford and millions upon millions of crochet patterns and craft projects I don't have time for.

The worst part, the sketchy part, is all these Picked for You doodads are based on my past pins and browser search history, which means the entire contradictory mess is (allegedly) an exact reflection of the inside of my noggin. And it is ostriches-on-ecstasy levels of crazy up in there (seriously, though, act surprised).

"Sweetheart, you're beautiful just the way you are, but here's how to apply three pounds of makeup because never mind that first part."  ~ my brain, according to Pinterest

It's called a smoky eye!
There's nothing inherently wrong with Pinterest. I still enjoy it and there are some insanely great ideas on there. I guess it's just a little weird to see a reflection of what I'm "interested in" presented so ... ickily. Shallow and self-obsessed and really, really confused about what I want and never okay with just being, you know? Like, the sip a glass of iced tea and sit on my porch without feeling the need to do all the things ever sort of existence. (Ummmmmm ... I think I might actually be 87 years old.)

But again, it's just a silly website. And it's been great to realize I'm in a much better place than their algorithm suggests. Maybe it's simply a reminder, and maybe you need it, too, if you happen to be another perfectionist, that the Internet is Not. Real. Life.

You know, in case you haven't seen all those noseless people on Instagram.

#nineteenfiltersandlookinsofine

Now pour yourself a drink and go BE.


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Sunday, February 15, 2015

A Letter to my (Delusional) 18-Year-Old Self

Dear me,

Look at you. Little Miss Adult. Eighteen years old and ready to take on this oyster of a world you've heard so much about. You can officially buy a lottery ticket now. Your graduation party is fast approaching. You've started on a college major, one you chose solely because calculus wasn't a pre-req.

You're adorable ... and delusional. You are completely defined by external labels and petrified of other people's opinions of you.

First, let's talk about the biggest thing in your life. For other (normal) people your age, it might be academics or sports or a circle of friends. For you, it's church. You define yourself by the "church kid" label just like others do with "nerd" or "jock". And in typical clique-ish manner, you are crazy critical of others who aren't exactly like you.

You cannot comprehend that a whole world of differences exists outside your tiny little universe ... which basically means you're a judgmental bitch.



Don't worry, you'll get over it. Mostly.

Next up, let's discuss your horrific self esteem. If there was only one thing I could say to you, it would be to love yourself. STOP focusing on how everyone else perceives you; it doesn't matter. Peel off your self-made labels. See the beauty in your imperfection. 

And for God's sake, stop weighing yourself three times a day and BACK AWAY FROM THE MIRROR. You're wasting so much time giving a damn for no good reason.


You are beautiful because of who you are inside.

Of course, right now you have no idea who you are inside, so you're not going to understand this. 

You will, though.

(Also, while we're here, no more blue eye shadow. Ever.)



Just no.

Finally, let's look at your life choices. You're taking a road less traveled (these days anyway) and getting married in a few months ... soooo young. You're terrified to tell people you're engaged because of the judgmental opinions they feel they must bestow upon you. But remember how you need to stop giving a fuck about what everyone else thinks? Yeah. Do it now.

You have found the thing people wait their whole lives for. You're in love. 

Does that mean it's going to be perfect or easy or exactly as you imagined it would be? No.


You think that, though, don't you? Your sunshine and roses imagination has no idea what's coming.


Marriage is going to be so much harder than you ever thought possible. It's going to test you, try you, break you and make you again. You'll soon learn just how amazing a force love is, how its elasticity will keep you bound together as your fairy tale dreams are smashed to pieces. 


It will be worth it.

And then you'll start having babies and you'll realize that all your perceived flaws are nothing compared to the intense inadequacy you feel trying to care for another human being. You will realize that showering twice a week is actually a pretty solid life goal. You won't have time to freak out about the stupid things you're freaking out about now because you'll be freaking out about a whole bunch of new and different stuff ( ... OMG OMG CALL POISON CONTROL THIS BUBBLE SOLUTION COULD BE TOXIC!!)


Just as with marriage, parenting will knock you on flat on your ass. You will deal with things more disgusting than you can possibly imagine. You will want to call it quits sometimes. You will bear the guilt of doing it all wrong every single day. And you will find joy in the madness.

Many of the challenges you'll face in the next six years you will barely survive. Everything will seem to happen at once and you'll be left bleeding from a head-on collision with rock bottom. You never think you'll be there now, but just wait. 

You will find out what its like to look at your amazing, spectacular, breathtaking life and not want to keep living it.


And then you will find reasons to breathe anyway.

Every misstep, every mistake, every accident and “oh, shouldn't have done that” moment will help you figure out who you are. You will realize that your journey is your journey and no one else can tell you what is right or wrong. You will learn to listen to your heart and follow it ... at least 50 percent of the time.

You will be like a phoenix rising from the ashes ...

... and you will probably think it is like, SOOO LAME that I went with a phoenix metaphor because WHERE IS THE CREATIVITY IN THAT, HUH? Cut yourself some slack. The older you is t.i.r.e.d.

Good luck with life, delusional little trooper.

You got this.





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Friday, January 30, 2015

12 Disgusting Things I Never Ever, Ever Thought I'd Do

Seriously, never, ever, ever.


1. Catch vomit. With my hands.

I used to be a strictly anti-ralphing sympathy puker who would do ANYTHING to avoid puke.

Oh poor hubby, you have the stomach flu? Good thing you can fit on the bathroom floor if you curl up into a fetal position and dislocate a shoulder or two! Here, let me get you a pillow.

Then kids happened. The moment I realized something had changed was the moment I rushed from the kitchen to the dining room (at my inlaw's house, of course) to catch G's puke in my bare hands.

And if that wasn't bad enough, I instinctively turned her little barfing body to face me like I had suddenly morphed into a  fucking human ShamWow.

I had a good reason, though. It was spaghetti with sauce. We all know what red food does to carpet. Especially your inlaw's pristine moss green carpet.

I didn't really realize how incredibly gross it was until the kids' Papa started dry heaving and had to leave the room, but goddammit, I saved that carpet!

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