Comedy Hour: My Mama is BONKERZ

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”

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Year 30: We Can Do This

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”

For Starters

 

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”