So my mama is like, wayyyyyy Type A. Always has been. She’s a supermode perfectionist, planner, doer, attention to detail kind of girl. It’s really quite endearing. I wish I had these qualities for myself. I mean, okay, I’m a bit anal about neatness and organized drawers and color coded closets and logically arranged school notebooks, but that is the extent of my meticulousness. I can take a vacation and not plan a single activity and be completely happy. I can come home from work and do absolutely nothing with the pile of laundry that has been needing to be folded for 3 days, even though there are no pairs of clean socks in my underwear drawer. I can go to the grocery store with no idea of what I’m going to get. I’m okay with that stuff. Rest brings peace. No plans, no worries.
I realized the extent of my Mama’s OCD on a recent trip home to Louisiana to spend a little time with the ol’ fam. It was a chill visit with nothing much to do but hang around the house and fuck off. I was lounging on the sofa when I looked down and noticed these lists….. As I looked closer, I realized what the lists were detailing. Take a look.
Continue reading “Comedy Hour: My Mama is BONKERZ”
I have turned 30. The newness of life slowly wearing away and leaving smears of lethargy, achy bones, repetition, and a general apathetic disposition in its place. At least more so than in my past. I’ve always been a bubbly, excited about nothing, obnoxious laugher who can charm the pants off most any man (or woman–yes that happened, BUT a story for another day) and live easy without plan or worry or fear for tomorrow. When I get gifts for birthdays or Christmas, I get so excited I cry. Again, I’m a feeler. So this turn of events into disinterested, unenthused funk makes me confused. This isn’t me. How did I get here?
(No one explains the absurdity of life better than the one and only David Byrne, man) Continue reading “Year 30: We Can Do This”
When I was a little girl, my Mama always taught me that life could unfold however I dreamed. I could write, I could act, I could do comedy or become a fucking surgeon if I wanted. Early on I knew that life’s potential was a garden that needed to be nurtured and fed, and eventually beautiful buds of success would appear in bright colors. I would get multiple degrees from prestigious universities and marry a rich man, drive a Volvo, and have glowing golden-haired children with pink bows in their hair. I would exercise for fun (because that’s what rich, successful people do, right?), have a constant tan and perfect skin, and be able to travel the world with the never ending prosperity and high cotton-ness I would experience. Little did I know in those younger years how life would ultimately tar and feather my ass and drag me through 4 states until I was left broke and alone with a drinking problem and no direction whatsoever. Funny story, huh? Continue reading “For Starters”