Friday Randoms

I

"The worst part of working out isn't the working out part. It's the GOING part."

"...I'm pretty sure that there's no way to get around that?"

"I don't even think teleportation would make it better."

II

"I would like to buy a carton of sour cream and eat it with a spoon."

"That's ... oddly specific."

"As I frequently am."

III

"Do you ever have to resist the temptation to be a total asshole?"

"Kind of. I mean, I have the temptation but I don't often resist."

IV

"How are you sick AGAIN?"

"Is that a real question? It's like you've never met me."

V

"You know, I want to love everyone, but people make it very hard by being extremely annoying and stupid."

"Thank you for that assessment, Mother Theresa."

Hug In a Mug

The other day, in an ADD fit of thought, I decided that I should open a coffee shop called Hug in a Mug. Because that's what coffee and tea ARE. Obviously.

And then I decided that I should also sell sandwiches because there's not much that's better than a well crafted, delicious sandwiches on yummy yummy bread. And yes, my imaginary eatery would offer a no crust option for those of you who don't love crust. Plus plus also and, we would also offer them cut diagonally, if that's what you wanted. Because the name is HUG IN A MUG. We're all about the comfort.

My friend Anne suggested that we also sell soup. Which, frankly, I hadn't thought of but totally should have. What's better than soup? Nothing. Also, you don't deserve the name Hug in a Mug if you don't offer the most glorious meal in the world, which is clearly grilled cheese and tomato soup. (Just typing those words makes me drool a teeny tiny bit. Or a lot. Whatever. I'm hungry. Don't judge me.) Oh, and homemade mac and cheese. (I clearly don't have to explain why this is an excellent menu offering.)

I also thought that sometimes people want things that are sweet and delicious, so we would offer mug desserts. You know, like you see on Pinterest. Brownie in a mug! Pie in a mug! ... Something else yummy in a mug! Mug desserts.

Since I have friends who make super cool stuff, I thought maybe we could offer a selection of their wares, but especially mugs and other things that confer the idea of cozy happiness. Like blankets. And, um ... scarves? And we should have a fireplace and cozy comfy chairs for the fall and winter.

There might also be a cat or two, to hang out with while you sit by the fire. I mean, that should be a thing.

Maybe this is what I want to do when I grow up.

When I Grow Up

I'm still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I know precisely who and what I don't want to be -- that's become very clear to me in the last few years -- but I'm still sort of blundering about, trying to determine who and what I will be.

I know, I know, I'm sort of already a grown up.

It has occurred to me of late, however, that being an adult doesn't mean you're grown up. I don't think you finish growing up; I firmly believe that growing, transforming and changing, and becoming who you are meant to be is a lifelong process.

Which leads me to the question of what I want to do and be when I grow up. Again. Always.

The difference between me now and me five years ago is that this question no longer stresses me out. I once defined myself through my career and how well that was going. I've stopped doing that, because as it turns out, there's a whole lot of life that happens outside of the office. I want to define myself by how I live, and work is not where I live. Work is where I go to see my supercool coworkers, do some tasks that I love and some that I don't, and make the money I need to do the living part of my life.

Am I super passionate about my work? Parts of it. I feel like that's true of every job out there, though. To be honest, I sort of feel like the notion of being massively in love with all aspects of any job is kind of like the Disney myth of romance, where you love every single aspect of your partner all of the time and never find anything about them irritating and no one ever fights over who's turn it is to take the garbage out. It's a nice thought, but it's not REAL. It doesn't exist. There's always going to be the garbage-y tasks. There will always be things that annoy you.

I think that's how it works, kinda.

Given that, why ask myself what I want to be when I grow up? Honestly, that's so I can figure out what aspects of myself I want to work on, work out, and work towards. If I decide that I want to act? I don't think it means dropping everything and running off to Hollywood. Maybe I can spend some time in community theatre. Take lessons. Get myself out there. If I want to be a better writer? I should spend more time writing. If I want to be a chef, I could take cooking lessons. I could be more daring in the kitchen, try new stuff.

I can move towards the things that I think are interesting and that I really love and see -- how does this work? How do I work within it? What can I learn from this?

I ask myself what I want to be when I grow up, but I think that the truth is that what I most want to be is fully realized as a person who explores her interests and isn't afraid to try stuff. I don't want to go back to the person who defines herself by her job. I want to be a person who defines herself through all of the other things in life that she has -- and those are all good, amazing things.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Friday Randoms

I"I LOVE THIS MUSICAL SO MUCH!"

"ME TOO! SO MUCH CAPSLOCK OF LOVE!"

"I MUST SHOUT IT ON THE COMPUTER!"

"SHOUT IT SISTER! SHOUT IT WITH THE KEYBOARD!"

II

"I don't know what to do. I mean I know what to do but I don't know how to tell you how to do it. HELP ME OBI WAN YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE."

III


"I found it out by consulting the Googs."

"..."

"Google and I have such a close relationship that I just call it the Googs now. We're like that."


IV

"I don't think that I should be expected to use words at six AM. I just don't."

V

"Dogs think tripe is the most delicious thing on the planet."

"Dogs will eat their own poop. They are NOT gourmets."

[4:3

Happy Blogiversary!

Well hello there.

It's been six years since I started blogging here. Six. Years. That's a lot of blog posts. How many, you ask? According to Blogger, it's 946 posts. And -- wait for it -- 64,975 views.

Holy. Moly.

A lot of things have changed since that first post. I did indeed move back to New Hampshire, obviously (and have bounced about a bit since then). I lost my BeansieBoo but adopted Lizzie B. Sadly, the Flinkster and I no longer talk. I have changed jobs a few times. I bought a car.

Oh, and I reconnected with The Fella, aka the love of my life. So that's a thing.

Have I learned anything in six years? Well, YES, actually! I'm so glad the you asked!

1. Family comes in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and denominations. Love your family.

2. If you are feeling something, put it out there. Odds are pretty high that there's someone out there who will identify, and who needs to hear that they are not alone.

3. The more we talk about mental health, the less shame there will be in mental illness.

4. The most powerful thing that you can do is reach out to someone.

5. Sometimes words will open doors and sometimes they will close them. Choose carefully, and know you are responsible for what you say. (You absolutely have the freedom to say whatever you want. And you absolutely will be held accountable for those words.)

6. Some people don't like being mentioned in a blog post. Some people REALLY want to be mentioned. It's very weird.

7. Being "that girl with the blog" is sometimes unnerving, but it's still pretty freaking cool.

8. Even when your mom disagrees with your political views, she will think your writing is brilliant. (This might just be true for me.)

9. Virtual community is a powerful, powerful tool. Yay social media!

10. It can be really challenging to come up with lists of ten things.

Stay tuned to see what happens in the next six years, and thanks for putting up with me for all this time.

All kinds of virtual hugs,

Yellie

Monday, June 13th

I should have a lot to say but I don't. I'm too sad and I'm so tired of being sad. I'm tired of the excuses for why gun violence is still a thing. I'm tired of people hating other people.

I'm tired of trying to find the words to negotiate my way through the minefield of feelings.

So instead, today, there is this, because it makes me feel better.

Friday Randoms

I

"In the immortal words of ... someone? I can't remember who said it, but somebody said a thing about this once--"

"-- way to sound SUPER WISE. That's outstanding."

II

"Is your iPad ok?"

"Yeah, it updated."

"Okay, I was just worried that something was wrong."

"Oh if there's something wrong you'll know. I'll hold it out to you and whimper like a Dickensian orphan."

III

"Cold medicine: a magical potion that will restore your ability to breathe but will remove your ability to remember what you were doing, deprive you of the focus to do it once you DO remember, and will make you think you still need to do things you have already done."

"..."

"But yay, breathing."

IV

"That guy's got an ego the size of ... what's a really big planet? Insert really big planet name here."

V

"Why? Why does a Y chromosome prevent you from admitting that you need to go to the doctor?"

"It just does. SCIENCE."

Why Women Get Raped

Dear Everyone in the World,

Women don't get raped because of what they're wearing.

Women don't get raped because of how much they had to drink.

Women don't get raped because they're in the wrong neighborhood.

Women get raped because some asshole decides to rape them. That's why women get raped. The number one cause of rape? IS RAPISTS.

Not women.

RAPISTS.

Men who rape. Men who don't care about consent, or autonomy, or personal safety. Men who may be a stranger but who may also be an acquaintance. Men who feel as though it's entirely within their right to force a woman to engage in unwanted sexual activity.

That's why women get raped.

When we act like the woman is at fault, like she did something to deserve it? We tell the rapist that his behavior is acceptable.

When we act like the act of raping a woman has ruined a man's life? We tell the woman that he raped that she doesn't matter.

When we give a rapist a light sentence because we think he probably won't rape more people, we tell women that rape doesn't matter.

This is why women get raped.

Because some men are rapists. And our court system and society continues to be okay with it.

It's not okay.

It will never be okay.

Sincerely,

A Woman Who Is Sick of This Nonsense

PS I am fully aware that men also are raped, and that not all rapists are men. However, I'm fired up right now and am only prepared to address this particular issue. 

It's the Little Things

I frequently feel as though I haven't really accomplished much in my time on this earth, because, let's face it, I am a bit of a flighty bug.  The thing that I have really demonstrated skill at is screwing up and starting over. After giving it some thought, however, I realize: that's not a bad thing to be good at. It's actually a really good thing to be good at, because it means you're trying. You haven't given up and you're not complacent. To quote a small, blue, Disney fish, you just keep swimming.

So. That's a thing.

Here's another: having things go badly with on the sorta regular means that when things are going well? I get REALLY excited.  OH SO VERY EXCITED. It doesn't take much of an accomplishment for me to be completely stoked, because every item on the plus side of the column feels like a win at this point.  In case you think that's pathetic, by the way, let me just tell you: I firmly believe that it is better to feel extreme joy at the small things -- the little wins -- that not appreciate them while they're happening. You have to notice these things. You have to take the time to soak them in. Every win -- even the teeny weeny ones -- is still a win.

Which brings me to last night's dinner.

I have said previously that for many, many years I did not know how to cook and didn't care about it because if all else failed, french fries were a perfectly acceptable meal. I still love me some french fries, but I also accept the need to eat things like vegetables, and over the past several years have actually become a pretty good cook. I have a large collection of cookbooks to prove it.

But last night, I invented a recipe. All by my self. And yes, I stood over my sauce pan, praying to the kitchen gods "Please don't suck, please don't suck, please don't suck" but I also knew what I was doing. I added items with intent and purpose. I tasted. I stirred.

It came out ... well, let me be completely honest here:

IT WAS AMAZING.  Amazing, and healthy, and all mine. I did it all by myself. Just me and some ingredients and the belief that in that moment, I knew what I was doing.

It was a win.

I'll take it.

Friday Randoms

I

"I don't know. He plays ... something. A sport? There's probably a ball of some sort involved."

"..."

"This is the part where I admit that I need to pay attention when he talks, but I mostly don't."

II

"I smell garlic. Do you smell garlic?"

"Nope."

"Maybe I'm having a nose hallucination."

"Um."

"Nose hallucinations aren't a thing, are they." (Please note: this was said with resignation, and not like  a question.)

"Sorry, but no."

III

"My brain is going, like, 45 miles per hour."

"That's not very fast."

"Yeah, that's not what I meant to say."

"Hahahaha, your brain is driving at a perfectly safe, in no way frightening speed."

IV

"I'm so tired that I can't process simple sentences and I have Helena Bonham Carter hair."

V

"Everyone has a nemesis."

"I suppose that's true."

"What's yours?"

"Clutter."

"You didn't even have to think about it."

"We're at war, Clutter and I. Every day is an epic battle of will against entropy!"

"..."

"I'm practically a superhero. It's cool to admit it."

So I Have This Idea...

... and it came to me as I watched another bout of internet nastiness where people judged and threatened someone they didn't even know.

What if -- and I'm just throwing this out there -- what if we talked to each other the way we wanted people to talk to our children?

I know there's that whole thing about treating other people the way you would like them to treat you, but I've noticed that a lot of us aren't very kind to ourselves, so I'm chucking that out the window. Instead, I'm going to treat people the way I would like them to treat the Wee One. With tolerance. With an open heart. With understanding and acceptance and love.

We want better for our kids than we want for ourselves, right?

We should want good things for everyone. We should want good things for complete strangers and people of other religions. When we see other people, instead of seeing their sexuality or the way they identify their gender or the paperwork that comes with their nationality or a lack of paperwork thereof, we should see them as someone's child.

BECAUSE THEY ARE.

They are someone's baby, no matter how old they are, and you should think of your children, and how much you love them, and how much it would hurt you if someone were terrible to them. Think about how you want your child to be seen and to be embraced by the world. And then take that and apply it to every other person in this human family, because everyone deserves to be approached with kindness and an open heart.

It's an idea. It might not be a great idea, but it's a start.

And God knows we have to start somewhere.