Awhile ago, in this post, I announced that my friend Danger was going to break my limbs if I didn’t give her my book on May 2.
Well, I didn’t give her my book on May 2. She didn’t break my limbs, mainly because she didn’t have to. I am already pretty much incapacitated, and I don’t think even Danger is one to beat up a cripple. (Usually.)
I felt the same way about this birthday, this one that just passed me by a few hours ago, that I do about every birthday: despite my worries and problems and hurts, being alive is far and away the most fun thing I’ve ever done.
Honestly: can you believe we get to do this? And to think my molecules could have just wound up in a tree or something. BORING!
Birthdays can be bittersweet, yes, and a little alarming as one realizes that one is slowly becoming a spider-veined fire hazard who will be lucky just to blow out the big number candle in the center of the cake, much less all of them, but really: I’ll take as many of these aptly named happy birthdays as I can get.
Yay for thirty, and forty, and all those other milestones that I hope to reach before I manage to collect like a hundred healthy and happy birthdays like the greedy bastard I am, because holy hell am I having a good time.
PRETENDING TO BE TOO COOL FOR PERSONAL ADS BUT PROBABLY JUST LAZY
I am too amazing and complex to be summed up in paragraphs so I won’t even try. You should similarly recognize the futility of this exercise and just message me, hopefully with considerably more effort than I just exerted.
ALMOST COMICALLY INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING ALIVE
I like fun. I enjoy going out, staying in, and eating food that tastes good. I also enjoy snuggling and laughing. Sometimes I watch movies. I live in a house and have a job. The first thing people usually notice about me would have to be my smile, my eyes, or my unique inability to pick myself out of a lineup. (My friends could, though, and they claim I am attractive, with a great sense of humor.)
I love this post from Irretrievably Broken about looking back on your divorce decisions in retrospect and reconnecting with your ex in a new way. Good stuff.
Someone asked me awhile ago to do a Kindle review post. I’m not sure that the hot rambling mess you are about to read counts as a review post, but here you go anyhow. If you do not care about the controversy surrounding the Kindle, you may want to go do something else … anything else, really. You’re welcome.
Alexa will be pleased that I’ve finally posted this (with a few revisions). This is YEARS old, and it hails from my very brief rap career. As someone suffering under some truly absurd deadlines this month, I am now planning a nostalgia tour as Jay-PeG in order to revisit this classic.
I keep thinking of this elephant I met, once.
The collection below essentially amounts to what happens when an agnostic attempts to articulate her own personal prayer beads into words. I stop, I kneel, I clutch them, and I let them slip through my fingers, one by one, all while muttering these sorts of things at myself.
And then I go out into the world and fuck it all up again, and how.
I write them out because it helps me, because it makes them more solid and strings them all together. I write them out because I am moving to a new place that offers a new chance to lean on them a little harder, to have a little more faith.
It’s not technically spiritual, I guess, but it’s the best I can do. I invite you to take what helps you and leave the rest.
I think every Twitter pun possible has already been made, so I will just say that I recently made my tweets public, and if you would like to, you can follow me here. That is all.
This post is originally from 2008, regarding BlogHer and social dynamics in general. I felt inspired to bring it back because of Issa’s great post.
I’ve enjoyed more social activity this year than … well, ever, honestly. And you guys, it’s FASCINATING. Some women are flat-out rejected. Some blend in effortlessly. Most are somewhere in between. But the driving forces behind the outcome are always the same, and not even really that difficult to grasp … OR SO YOU WOULD THINK. But no, the same mistakes happen over and over again, and the longer I observe all of it, the more I marvel at the human capacity to make everything a hell of a lot more difficult than it has to be.
And … well, I really hate to throw gender stereotypes out there, so forgive me for the next sentence: social difficulty may be a human tendency, but it often takes a group of women to turn it into a real art form. I’m not saying that to bash women. My group of friends is full of the most amazing people I have ever encountered, regardless of gender. Not every woman is the limping emotional mess I’m about to describe. In fact, I dearly hope NO woman is the limping emotional mess I’m about to describe.
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