Friday, January 26, 2018

The weight of my obituary

Source: stolen from

I want an obituary like this one when I die. (It's short. Go read it. I'll wait .... but not forever. While you're reading I'm going to write an aside to my children.)

Drake and Elvira, I want you to use the writing skills I taught you and send me off into the afterlife (or not, because tunnels with white lights shining at the end notwithstanding, nobody really fucking knows for sure, but I digress ....) in style. Please save the "bag of frozen peas" and "glitter crayon on the toilet" stories for the eulogy. Bad-mommy stories don't belong in an obituary. Also, please allow me to take the question "does the carpet match the drapes?" to my grave. Or urn. I don't care what you do with my body, just leave the question alone. Also, use a photo that has good boobs in it. Drake, Elvira will know what this means. I know you'll both want to put in something about how I love(d) the other one more, but suck it up, buttercups, because I love you both the same. Although that could change if somebody takes me on a cruise. Finally, don't forget to proofread. In fact, you can put that on my gravestone. Or urn. "She always proofread." It has a ring. Some people will try to persuade you to put something about vaginas on my gravestone. Don't do it. Future generations won't understand.

Drake. Elvira. Be like Terry Ward's kids. Don't write an obituary for your mother that puts people to sleep.

That is all.

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Top 10 Lessons I Learned in 2017

(Photo credit:

The beginning of a new year is always a good time for introspection. It's tempting to just say "Fuck you, 2017. You gave me nothing," but that's neither true nor does it kick a new year off with much hope. So here's the short list of lessons I either learned in 2017 or was left to ponder for 2018. Next I can make some of those pesky, but well intended, resolutions that I'll be breaking in the new year.

1. Women can make change happen, but it will be harder, take longer, and be more brutal than we can ever imagine. We are still stronger together though, and we don't dare stop or those damn Republicans will be up in our vaginas before we can knit a pussy hat.

(Photo credit: Time)

2. Sometimes a 6-year-old is wiser and more compassionate than I am, and that's OK. Sometimes that same 6-year-old needs to do a thing simply because I said so, and that's that.

3. Even the so-called best medical care can suck big green donkey balls, especially if the patient is a woman over 50 of any age. On the other hand, the so-called best medical care can make cancer go away and leave only a faint scar. Better to have it than not. Also, show any weird spots to your doctor. 

4. I can memorize more than I thought I could, and I can even perform with more confidence than I thought I could. Performing two monologues for All the Sex Monologues was a revelation. Apparently I'm the only one holding me back. 2018 should be the year I write my one-woman show.

5. I envy people with money. And by that I mean I envy people who don't have to worry about money. Who can pay other people to do mundane jobs for them and who can shop at the best grocery store deli and who don't, like I do, have a panic attack when their refrigerators need repaired, because to replace my built-in Sub-Zero would cost around $10,000, which is a little too close to what my van cost. And who buy expensive new cars instead of used, as-much-as-I-can-afford mom vans. (I love my new old van, and I'm grateful for it. Don't get me wrong. This is about envy, not need.) I probably wouldn't be feeling this way if I hadn't started working for someone who never has to worry about money. It's hard not to compare. More thoughts on that in another post.

6. I'm lonely. I wasn't lonely until someone asked me how I could not be lonely. Then I couldn't stop thinking about it. So maybe I am lonely. I probably just need a best friend. I am not always a great friend though, due to both circumstances and self-absorption. The lesson here is that I don't need to dwell on any of this, but I do need to stop trying to fill that hole with chocolate and wine.

7.  Shit can fall to pieces while you're watching it happen on your screen of choice, both on large and small levels. When lies, obfuscation and shaming become the norm, how can you stay in a place that's become so toxic you hate to watch the news or open your email? I'm still learning when to walk away and when to try to help fix the problem.   Sometimes I just have to give up and let go no matter how painful, because nothing stays the same, even what was once a perfect fit. I can leave a place that's not working for me. With a country, it's not so easy to leave though, so I go back to #1. When it comes to a planet .... I hope we haven't worn out our welcome.

8. I need to take better care of my body. It's the only home that's all mine, and I've been treating it like a house in an episode of Hoarders.

9. Old wounds can heal, but it takes a little courage and even more humility.

10. People will come and go from my life, sometimes more than twice. When the going happens it can hurt like a shard of glass stuck in my throat. Other times, it's just a fucking relief to build a wall against the drama. It's a cliché, but I'll say it anyway: Cherish the people you love while you've got them. If 2017 taught me anything, it's that we don't always get to say goodbye.

Bonus 11. Write shit down! I thought of one more thing for this list last night, and now I can't remember it. It was a good one too. I'm sure of it.

What lessons did 2017 teach you? Comments are open and the drinks are free.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Day 16: Into the wilderness

I've just finished reading Brené Brown's latest book, Braving the Wilderness. I marked so many passages I wanted to go back to I had to go ahead and order a copy for myself. Add $2 in library fines to the cost of the book, because I didn't want to give it back and they made me. I'm going to write more about some of what she said in the book later in the month, but I have to be up at 4:30 AM -- yes, that's AfuckingM -- to catch a flight, so I'm keeping it short tonight.

I have made a decision to go into the wilderness, because a place I loved for many years is no longer that place. It's a hard thing to accept, and I'm grieving. Some would say I'm still grieving someone who died recently, and that's true. I am. But this grieving the place, the community, is a separate grief. One did not have to cause the other, but .... well. Spilled milk and all that.

The last few lines of the book spoke so hard to me, much as the entire rest of the book did, as she wrote about what it means to be connected by going into the wilderness, as she calls it. Alone. I'll just share these words tonight, and I'll have more to say about going into the wilderness in the future. Or you could just read the book yourself.

"There will be times when standing alone feels too hard, too scary, and we'll doubt our ability to make our way through the uncertainty. Someone, somewhere, will say, 'Don't do it. You don't have what it takes to survive the wilderness.' This is when you reach deep into your wild heart and remind yourself, 'I am the wilderness.'"

I am the wilderness, and I am in the wilderness. It can be a lonely place. I'm looking forward to being held in the actual physical arms of my family tomorrow. I'll try to get here to write every night, but don't hate me if I can't. Family comes first for the next few days.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Day 14: Go ahead. Hack my vagina

I don't know if this makes your blood run cold or if, like me, you simply wouldn't give a shit, but if you use a WiFi-connected, $200 dildo called the Siime Eye, someone could actually drive around your neighborhood scanning for your dildo and hack your vagina. Or your rectum, depending on where your dildo was inserted. Apparently it only took some guy who knows about this shit about five minutes to hack into one of these dildos and take over the camera so he could see, if he wanted to, some random strange woman's most intimate, hidden tunnel of love. Like this. 

And apparently among people who know about this shit, that's a big problem. One that you should consider before you start sending videos of the inside of your vag all over the place with your $200 dildo. Let's just hope the Republicans don't get wind of this.

I don't know about you, but I have no fucking idea why someone would go to all the work of driving around until he found someone's WiFi signal and then hacking into her dildo just so he could see ... that. Is that sexy? Do men crave seeing a woman's cervix? I mean, this is some Master and Johnson shit right here. Sure it's creepy if a guy wants to sneak up on that and watch it stare back at him, but it's not like spying on someone soaping up in a shower. It couldn't possibly be a turn-on for most people.

Back me up here, ladies. I wouldn't know my own cervix if I had to identify it in a lineup. I've never seen it, and I don't need to see it, and neither does anybody else. But furthermore, I have 100 problems and some hacker looking at my cervix isn't one of them.

Not that I intend to stick a camera -- did I mention this thing costs $200? --  in my vagina and give him (does anybody think a woman would do this?) the opportunity. What am I missing here with this thing? Is this supposed to be sexy? Because I suspect if you think too much about what a vagina actually looks like -- a tunnel of meat -- it's not going to arouse anyone's passions. So why would I want a vibrating camera up in my hoochie? And who would find that sexy anyway? Hey, baby, send me a dick pic and I'll send you one of my vagina. The real thing. You don't get to see my cervix until the second date though.

OK, supposedly the thing vibrates and the point of it is to observe a woman's mounting excitement and the resulting orgasm. I hate to bring Debby Downer to the orgy, but it's the rare woman who will orgasm from a vibrator inserted into her vagina. Not even with a camera on it. Not a penis either, for that matter.

Maybe I'm just too old for this shit. I'm not saying I'm not adventurous, but if someone asked me to masturbate with a vibrating camera while they watched on a laptop or a phone screen, I suspect I'd become bored very quickly. Frankly, it's an activity that can't compete with The Great British Baking Show. Paul Hollywood is exciting. Watching my cervix is not.

Let's look at Paul Hollywood. 
You feel me?

I'll bet Paul Hollywood doesn't drive around scanning for vag cameras.

Also did anybody else see "Siime Eye" and read "Slime Eye"? An unfortunate name, that. I find nothing appealing about the Siime Eye, so I guess my vagina and cervix will remain safe from slimy prying eyes. If you do like showing off your inner lady bits though, just change the password that came with your dildo camera and all will be well. So glad I could divert that disaster.

In conclusion, if you were thinking about getting me a vag cam for Christmas, please take that one off your list. I'll be posting my list for Santa soon, and this won't be on it.