Crazytown, Population: us

Dumpster-FireEverything is a colossal shitshow of a dumpster fire, and everyone on all the social medias is pissed off, and, I get it.  I get it all.  Stand up, sit down, do the hokey pokey for all I care, I love you all and will be okay with however you choose to live your life.

Unless you are one of those freaks who posts videos with titles like, “Ramsey the Chihuahua was wandering the streets of Mumbai and was mowed down by 17 cars, WATCH THE ACTUAL FOOTAGE HERE, before we show you some amazeballs foster dog Mom Karen who adopted him while on her own Eat Pray Love excursion and now he’s living a very lovely, albeit prosthetically enhanced life in Idaho, on a ranch, with a chicken best friend.”  Then?  Then, no.  You might as well offer my kids heroin because that’s just criminal, those videos.  I’ll watch slasher movies all day long, but the animals?  DON’T HURT THE ANIMALS.

Goodness, the tangents around here. Anyhoo…

Tomorrow is my birthday, and no I’m not ashamed to admit I’m turning forty freaking two.  Whoever told me turning 40 and beyond would suck really needs their life compass retooled because my 40’s, so far, have rocked.  Of course, now that I say that, that serial pooper lady will somehow find her way into my driveway or even worse, so let’s all collectively knock on wood.  I started my celebration early, today, with a woman I met through work who invited me to join her on a walk.  I only knew a little about her, but while we walked, she shared with me her journey through surviving breast cancer, mourning the loss of a friend who recently took his own life, and a host of other odds and ends.  By the 3.5 mile mark, we’d become friends.  I took a chance and the payoff was a new exercise buddy who made me laugh and think.

The world is crazytown right now, and that’s hard.  For my birthday, I want everyone in my little circle to do something nice.  For someone else, or yourself.  Donate to a cause.  Help folks affected by a hurricane.  Practice some self-care.  Get a coffee at 3pm because you can.  Compliment a stranger.  Compliment your wife.  Put down your goddamned phone, walk outside, let the sunshine hit your face, and take a walk.  If it’s raining, take a walk anyway, because like my Mom used to say, “You’re not gonna melt, you’re not that sweet!”  You guys would love my Mom.

Come on back tomorrow and tell me what you did.  I’m hoping I’ll figure out something fantastic, but I may just settle for less knee jerk horn honking, possibly an earlier bed time, maybe some cake, and call that shit a WIN.



The Horkin OG

Back in 2004, I believed I had a better chance of landing a guest star role on Tommy Lee Goes to College than having a baby.

Which, wasn’t a terrible show, given the premise and early adoption of the reality television arc, and it yielded a decent CD, Tommyland, which I bought and listened to on repeat on my way to and from work and did all the things childless people who wish not to be without children do to occupy their time.

Goddamnit, I had a LOT of free time on my hands.

Much like divorce, people REALLY don’t want to discuss the misfirings of your reproductive parts.  Friends and family often tolerated my ramblings about being lonely and dating shenanigans, but launch a retort to someone’s bad day with, “…at least YOU didn’t have radioactive dye injected into your Fallopian tubes” and suddenly you’re a social pariah.  So, I did what any respectable, barren woman in her late 20’s during the early 2000’s would do, I Googled the SHIT out of every and all topics surrounding infertility from the comfort of my couch while watching Gilmore Girls and, lo!  I found my people.  A community of stunningly brilliant story weavers, willing to share the hilariously humiliating, intimate, mundane, and darkest corners of their journey to parenthood and THEY LET ME JOIN THEM.  Crazy bitches.

I kept my blog close, and hardly anyone in my real life knew about it.  Eventually, my sister found it, and I shared it with a few others, and then I got spotted in my mall, and of course she and I became insta-besties, because that’s what one does when you’re spotted by a follower of your blog while bra shopping with two toddlers in tow, (SPOILER! I GOT KNOCKED UP EVENTUALLY!) and then you take her on a first friend date to Victoria’s Secret to purchase a bachelorette gift and live as friends happily ever after.

It’s truly a miracle I’m allowed out of my house alone.

horkinramblingsThis past weekend, I came across an archived version of my old blog.  Horkin Ramblings, in all her Pepto pink glory, from which I treated Unicorn Boyfriend to some dramatic readings.  Then, as if he hadn’t endured enough, I remembered a collection of posts, from my blog, that a friend compiled for my baby shower, and we read those, too.  Y’all.  It was GOLD.

And I decided, right then and there, under my white twinkle lights, on my deck in desperate need of painting, sipping a glass of $6 wine because we spare NO expense, that I’m bringing Mommyblogging back, OG STYLE.

(I had NO idea what OG meant until, like, a year ago, when I saw Teen Mom OG, and I praised Yeezus for a smartphone so no one knew I Googled the phrase OG, from the privacy of my own living room, except, now, the interwebs.)

But since my kids are now the ripe ol’ age of TWEEN, and would much rather I keep their privacy intact, and since I’m actively trying NOT to get pregnant because at my age that would be just crazypreggopants, and oh yeah, I’m divorced, it’s not exactly Mommyblogging so much as a dumping ground for the essays that will eventually comprise my best selling novel.

Or, more realistically, a blog that’s a fuck ton cheaper than therapy.  You are welcome!