Dear "eventual I told you so's" pt 2

--third eye blind
--fairuza balk
--hooded sweaters
--wholesome coming of age dramas (monogamy! Poetry! Deep family connections!)
AND on that note
--monogamy (it's so cool to be committed, you guys. SO COOL.)
--slam poetry
--sweater vests over short sleeved button ups
--that eifel 65 song "blue" (but, you know, in an ironic way. Because irony, like Keith Richards, will never die.)
--saggy boobs (we have to rebel against the plastic sometime, right? Right?)

happy 2010 everyone. It's been a ride.
M

This is Why I Don't Read Things

Every time I want to start a new project, I research it. The further into research I get, the more the project dies.

That story's been told a hundred times.
That exact story has been told five times in the last ten years.
No one takes that kind of story seriously anymore because it was done so much 15 years ago.
You have no point to your story, truthfully.
You see things in a poignant light but they are actually inane and entirely uninteresting.
No one would watch your movie but you.
The only answer you have to any question about a choice you want to make is "because".
You don't actually know enough about the subject matter.
To know enough about the subject matter will involve enough research that it will KILL any interest you have in continuing to write about it any longer.
You are going to be a waiter for the rest of your life because your ideas are so bad.
Your ideas are so OLD.

Fuck being informed. Thanks, but no thanks internet, movies, and books.
M

Dear Eventual "I Told You So" pt 1

You know what I'm tired of? I'm tired of making predictions about things and being right, and never getting any credit for it.

That's right. I said it.

I predict trends, recycled trends, social trends, and trends no one but me cares enough to think about--and I'm almost always right. But rarely, IF EVER, does anyone turn to me and say "you're right, mama. you said it would happen, and it happened". Rarely if ever does anyone even believe me that I knew it was going to happen.

+ Scream 4? Predicted that.
+ Hipsters turning into hippies? Predicted that.
+ Supreme snobs and assholes deciding it is now cool to be nice and believe in love? Predicted that big time.
+ Flannel? Child, please.
+ People other than Japanese chicks making peace signs in photographs? No one believed that would be cool again, but I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE.
+ Photobooths and Mason jars being freaking everywhere? Who has two thumbs and fucking saw that one coming. Me.
+ Jumpers AKA playsuits AKA rompers AKA cameltoe shorts? Yep.

And those are just a few of the great many things I have predicted would make their way (back) into society that I was right about. And I want some credit.

So now I'm realizing that if I put it out there on the internet (aka series of tubes), there can be more accountability. NOW, when something I know is going to become popular again annoyingly and inevitably DOES, I can point to this blog and say "see???? I predicted that one coming!!! SEE?! I am a cultural prodigy!!!". And then you will be like "Wow, she really does get more annoying over time." And then I will say something about wanting to eat some beans. Cuz that's pretty much how that goes.

Without further adieu, so begins my genius foretelling of shit that's coming back.

+ Snapple & Arizona iced tea (and while we're at it, ALL iced tea. Like, tea, as a "thing". The old favorites will come back with financial avengance, and new, hip teas will appear. Then you will see hipsters drinking cans of tea like it's 1993, and then everyone will do it. Teavolution.)
+ Political Correctness (America is going to love getting touchy feely about labels again)
+ Mary Janes & Creepers & Airwalk shoes
+ Ska & Big Band music (this invites the inevitable rise in popularity of zoot suits and swing dancing. This is still pretty uncool, but it won't be for long)
+ Mix Tapes (and cassettes in general)
+ Music videos on television.
+ Chokers
+ RL Stine
+ Bodysuits and Jeans
+ Hair parted down the middle
+ Roller activities (blade, sk8, sk8board)
+ Being straight edge (black x's. It's a lifestyle, man).
+ Goth revolution!
+ PLAYDATES. This is just an inevitability since everyone our age is starting to crank out their own collection of tiny humans. Having babies plus being a social person means parent-child group dates. I'm sure everyone will be drinking a lot of juice or something lame like that. Maybe iced tea -- see above.

I'm going to go buy a lemon Snapple now,
Mama

This blog should be called

lookatmyfeelings.blogspot.com

cryingonmykeyboardlisteningtoindigogirls.blogspot.com

laughatmyjokes.blogspot.com

sendingvibestopeoplewhocanmakemefamous.blogspot.com

iwenttoartschoolandnowimaprofessionalfoodserver.blogspot.com

criticalofshittyparenting.blogspot.com

hyperopinionatedaboutparenting.blogspot.com

ihaveababyitsnameiscareer.blogspot.com

beingkindisntafadyouhipsterdickwads.blogspot.com

sugarkillsamericansandamericanskillamericans.blogspot.com

ithinkiknoweverythingandithinkiknowabsolutelynothing.blogspot.com

thisiswhyimsoconfused.blogspot.com

Dear Inspiration and Follow Through

I realized something important this morning. It's only 6:45 so bear with me, but--

***I wrote this over two months ago, and that's as far as I got. Obviously I was pretty inspired. Obviously I do great at following through.***

Why are these boobs so complicated?

If you didn't know this already, here's the deal.

Big boobs are painful.

And apparently, no one in the brassiere industry has ever had big boobs. Especially not real ones. I'm looking at you "Victoria's Secret". Huuuh! What? Was that an innuendo about plastic surgery?! Gasp! What? Whaaaat? Huuuuh! She's the first person to have ever made that joke! Ever! Everrrrrrrrr! Ack!

Whatever. Anyway, big bras are hard to find. That is, if you are an identifying bio-female who doesn't want to look like a rayon banana slug when she takes off her flowy-peasant-top or XL-Pearl Jam-t-shirt. A female who wants to have a crack in her stack that isn't melting all the way to her belly button. A female who also wants her shit to stay in place when she walks down the street, and not bouncing around 180 degrees until they are bruised. Yes, bruised.

America, this bra doesn't exist.

I've only been a top heavy member of society for a couple of years, as my body blessed me with a disgusting last-minute growth spurt in my mid 20's. Yay. Thanks. So maybe I'm still waiting to get the secret catalog for sexy and practical giant titties. Maybe. More likely, the helmet sized black and tan safety gear I find around town is about all you can get, unless you want to go the other route and get some fake-lace-nipple-chaffing-hooker-reject-gear from bargain basements near your local strip mall. I want neither! I'm a fairly normal person and I want to feel like my breasts sit where all the normally-chested people's breasts sit. And I want it to look cute. But I guess I want it all!!!!!!

What I'm saying is, at last I found a tit harness that does the following:
--keeps that shit in place
--helps make proper posture possible
--does not encourage unsightly bulging or creasing
--makes me forget I'm wearing a bra

Alas, alack! What a find, America! What a fucking find! But you know what the catch is?
A. It is ugly. I look like a burn victim in recovery with this thing on.
B. It is big. To be so supportive and comfortable, it takes up most of the land mass known as my breast bone/collar bone/shoulders. Tank tops have ceased to be an option.
AND C. someHOW, this shit does the worst thing a big bra can do--it makes the boobs look small.

I was willing to live with A and B of the con category for the comfort and mobility this apparatus allows, but visible decrease in cup size?!?! Here it goes:
**I was blessed (for argument's sake) with naturally huge jugs, and you want to take that away from me?!?!
**You think it's somehow more comfortable for identifying bio-women to look like they're trying to bind their chests?! Hear. Me. If I wanted to bind my breasts I would do it, and I would do it without the help of a "ladies brassiere", thank you very much.

**Being a top heavy person, I am not just huge jug-ed. I am also large arm-ed, puffy chin-ed, thick waist-ed, and fully muffin top-ed. I kind of need the boobs to make the rest make sense. I don't want to draw attention to my rack, I just want to seem proportionate. Like a stalky apple on toothpicks. A bag of whipped potatoes on homemade candlesticks. A lumpy shape on a hairy skinny shape.

But let's at least make the lumps make sense. The thing is when you take the boobs and make them small boobs then the rest of the body looks swollen and odd. Small boobs are another thing. But compressing bigger ones into rectangular blobs is an odd stoplight between neck avenue and rib street.

So here we are, America. A search I thought had finally ended still blazes on. Big boobs can not truly have it all. Not to mention how time is not on their side. In the world of undergarments; asthetic, flattery, and comfort aren't either.

The question remains:
Why are these boobs so complicated?

to tweet or not to tweet

I need your help.
About a lot of things. (see: probably every conversation I've ever had with any of you)

But right now I have this twitter issue.
I have a lot of issues with twitter. My main issue is that it is stupid. No one is so important that the world should be updated on how tired they are at work, or how good their McNuggets taste. just put that shit on your facebook. It's like having a mini facebook. Tweeting barely even allows enough space to make jokes. And even if you did tell jokes on twitter, I would still say it's stupid. It's like a tiny blog, but the blog is about your favorite color m & m, or the consistency of your morning poops.

That being said, I got this thing going on. I'm starting to sell the stuff I make online. Not that it's good, not that everyone needs it--but I keep sewing shit onto shit and people keep being like "oh woah, mama, that shit's cute" so I was like "well, eff it then. I'ma be brave." Bam. Internet.

It seems like everyone who sells stuff they make has a twitter for it. Even when I made a facebook page, facebook keeps wanting me to link it to a twitter. Is a twitter helpful? If barely anyone cares now about what I make, would they care more if I had a twitter?

Should I make a twitter for goods and services (apparel)?
Help me, America. Help me hard.

mama

Dear, what is a life? Gene edition

What is a life? We have it, and we call it being alive. And then we don't have it, and we call that being dead.

I spend most of my life thinking about all of the things I want to do, plan to do, need to do, and feeling lazy/nervous/like a loser that it's not all happening quicker, and more clearly. To be honest, I have spent much of my young time questioning if I am already too old to achieve my goals, and if I am perhaps a person destined for a life of mediocrity. It has
not been until the last couple of years that I have started to
understand that personal happiness is a part of life goals that shows itself in the form of many things. It's the job you keep day to day, the relationship you have with your partner, the relationships you have with the people you let into your life, the sweet playtime with your awesome dog, buying a home, going on a trip, building something, having a goddamned hobby, being brave minute to minute, payig millions of bills on time, getting up early, sleeping well, nutrition, vitamins, books, blah blah blah. So many little fucking things that are JUST AS important as being a fucking revolutionary in your art. Needless to say it has been amazing to open up to all of these thugs. These little facets. These parts of a larger body we attribute to being a "life".

Well, it's almost my birthday. By this age I was certain i would be famous, influential, or at least not still working in a restaraunt. But this isn't about my life. And I can whine about that later.

Someone special died today. (no, not minute bol, though I am sure he was quite special). My best friends dad left the world with the memory of his humor, tenacity, stoicness, wisdom, and sweet energy this afternoon. And people die, I know. I am starting to get that by now. Like a sad hammer hitting me over the head again and again andagainandagain. But each time I have to think about life and death
and what the fuck this all is all over again. This person was so great. And not the way I ask myself to be great. He had tangible goals, enjoyed things as they happened, and ate a hot dog when he felt like it. He did not sit around telling himself thathis life was this untangiable thing. He grabbed it by the throat and did it. In a sweet and respectable way of course. He was a father to me
in many times that I needed one. And even when I didn't, and just stayed on his couch, made His son drive me to doctor's appointments, and watch marathons on his extended cable tv, he was still there for me. Infalliable. The man had a lot to give. And he did, without expectation or acknowledgement. A truely great man.

So I don't mean to go on and on, or wax blasé sentimental about someone who can't even see it, but it is makingme think. HE is making me think. What is a life? I guess I don't really know yet. If a life is what I've defined it as for myself it is an untangiable, unsatisfied machine. And maybe it should be something you hold onto while you have
it. Something you appreciate, for whatever it is. And that doesn't mean you have to get too comfortable in it and stop
reaching for more, but you can really embrace the reality of what's happening, the people you're with, and how you show gratitude.

Beacuse we are not owed this life.
We get it for a time, and then it's gone. Nothing waits for us to be ready to dive into it.
So, excused, if I sound like something oprah says or something you read in "new christian's monthly", but I am thankful that this man is making the question relevant.

What is a life? It's the only thing you have, and everything else is a part of it's one, big, short thing.

Thank you, Gene.

Dear, Things I Don't Get ep. 1

I mean, there are just so many things I don't get.

Why do I spend all day at my (OLD!) job thinking about all of the things I'm going to write about when I get home, all of the grown-up housely duities I am going to perform, all of the things I will put away and clean and make orderly, all of the career-forwarding emails I will write numbers I will phone call and moves I will make, all of the friends I will reconnect with, all of the things I have made that I will put on the internet for people to look at and buy--why do I spend ten hours thinking about these things, and then get home and sit like a lump on my bed, staring off foggy-eyed, letting my dog lick my nose, trying to remember a single one of those things, but coming up only with the looming loser-inducing issues like "I still have to do my taxes" and "If I'm this tired everyday I will never get anything done and will be a barista for the rest of my life". I don't get it. I don't get where all of those thoughts and ideas and motivations went. I don't get why at 11:00 life feels possible, but by 6:30 I can peel myself off the bed long enough to shuttle dog food from the fridge to the bowl. I.DON'T.GET.IT.

I don't get why people walk into restaraunts and cafes and think it's ok to just put their dirty pedestrian hands all over whatever they want. Instead of first paying for it and waiting for someone who works there to give it to them. ExfuckingSCUSE me? You see a plate of cookies for sale on a counter. You dig through them to find the one you want while waiting in line to order your food? You see a pie of quiche. You scoop your hands into that pie of quiche to find a slice you like, while you wait in line to order your food? Who the fuck do you think you are, buddy? You disgusting clueless moron. Not even a sneeze guard keeps people away. I have seen people reach OVER the sneeze guard to try and get at a muffin or tart that they just can't POSSIBLY wait to be served because their very important and entitled and gluttonous and EMBARASSING. Some people don't understand logic about dining out, and I don't get it. I don't get that. You can make six and a half / seven figures a year, and yet you have no common sense. DON'T.GET.IT.

I don't get why you know more as you get older, but things also become harder. Shouldn't I be able to know more about how finance works AND be able to do the splits? Shouldn't I be capable of excelling at personal and professional relationships AND be able to stay up all night without crying and/or puking? Don't get it. I don't get that one, and it's a real bummer.

Also, what I don't get is why I don't have the energy to finish this list of things that I don't get (aka generally things that bug me). I've been up since 5 and it's 11:00, which, is, like, the middle of the day almost. Hey, desk job, buddy: Let's go brew a pot! of coffee. fyi.

Dear you started slow, you got what you wanted

So you expected nothing...and you got all this. What an experience to try something and come out the other side with so many tickets open. So many people listening. So many avenues to drive your new thing through. It's been a while now. Some years. Seems like it's still going for you. What an amazing case of "right place:right time" plus "right stuff". Your story is somewhat of a dream. And I love you and am inspired by you and want to see what you are ever to create in the future, but you must know: sometimes my ideas mean nothing because we are so much alike. And you got there first so I sound like I'm imitating. And I frankly don't know how to do anything else besides what I am inclined/know how to do, so I am at a bit of a loss. You told the story of the people I wanted to tell a story about. Back to one. You wrote the tone I wanted to share. Back to square one. I don't know what you want for yourself. Maybe you feel you're at one. Maybe you don't feel like you're anywhere at all. When to me it is so clear you are on a party boat off of Miami waiving "fuck you" to the rest of us not-so-goods in gold lamae. My standards aren't super high for success. But to me, you are doing it. And it seems your travels lead to experience and greatness.

Not the most eloquent, but for truth and in virtue the most honest
Mama