An Ode to My Hair.

Oh Dear hair,

Such strands, that fall

You encircle my toes,

You clog my drains, get in my socks and end up in my cat’s poop.

Red strings that I find caught in my bra strap.

You get into my food, ruining my meals

And when I find you in my butt crack,

I feel intimately violated.


Chelsea Handler’s been wearing my design.

Chelsea Handler’s been wearing my necklace design on @chelsealately. It’s 25%off @Etsy store

Mind the hole…

Dissociation is defined as “mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional reality.”

I refer to it as my “turtle shell.”

As long as I remember which hole to use when coming back out, I don’t see a problem.


Flo can suck it.

I have been crying for the last two hours. Shamelessly crying.

I have no energy to stop, and yet I barely have enough energy to continue. I have showered in the warmest water my skin can bare, as this will sometimes soothe my wounds when I am in this state, all to no avail trying to recover from wounds that I have no proof of. Scars that tend to fester and boil when they are least convenient. 

But it is like clockwork….

Perhaps it was seeing the excitement in my parents eyes when they spoke about my older sister’s huge new country home in the mountains, and how amazing it is, because you know, her 70 year old fiance “just loves and adores her” 46 year old ass so much he had to get it for her. “She’s really made it you know. He is really going to take care of her.”

Awesome. And fuck you both.

Or perhaps, my current melancholy could be a direct result from the lack of a pro-active response when I’ve tried to inform my parents regarding a serious and hurtful infraction on the part of a sister-in-law. Because family boundaries have been crossed, apologies are required the seriousness was obvious. I was quick to be reminded that no matter how manipulative or hurtful someone is to me, their daughter, this type of situation really isn’t their business and they aren’t going to get involved. She is family afterall.

Ok so awesome and a big fuck you to me!

And then, there is the general reaction to my obtaining a very important, new well-paying client. Because remember I still can’t fully pay all my own bills and I am generally broke. It will be exciting when your business starts making more money.

And scene.

Did I mention yet that I am having my period? First day.
Of which, if you know anything about a female period, it basically means that anything you encounter today will set you immediately over the edge, but on a normal day could perhaps be put off for about two months before the issue actually surface into emotion……So, due to my calculation, I am hoping, that the next two months will be a fucking emotional breeze. 

Too many vaginas.

I was an elementary school teacher for almost 10 years. It is a miracle I lasted as long as I did….because let me tell you, most of the people in that profession have a vagina. Many, many, just too many vaginas…..and I don’t do well with too many vaginas.

Personally, I think there should be vagina limits. You know, like elevators….do not exceed 10 vaginas. Or perhaps a balancing system, that for every one vagina there needs to be a leveling penis. It is about equilibrium people. 

Now you may be thinking, but wait, you, in fact, have a vagina. So why are you saying these things? Let me explain.
I am a tom boy at heart. I do not deal well with bullshit and/or caddy behavior. I am irritatingly honest. I am creative and always have ten other things that occupy my time outside of the job that actually pays my bills. I enjoy and cherish quirky, artistic, roadless traveled people. And I don’t require marriage and/or giving birth as a means for establishing my own self worth and/or purpose.

So on the chance that you thinking that I am being a little bitchy here, I humbly require that you to do at least one of the following and then revisit:

  1. Attend any wedding single….no date, just you. Hell on Earth.
  2. Attend a child’s athletic event. Pretend to be single and/or divorced then try to integrate. 
  3. Attend lunch in any teacher’s lounge in the entire United States. 
  4. Attend a function with a group of sorority sisters….No, scratch that, just shoot yourself now.
  5. Attend a dinner with a group of married sorority sisters = pull out eyeballs with dinner fork.
  6. Go to any bridal and/or baby shower, but you cannot present yourself to be engaged or married. 

…..And people wonder why I have so many gay, male friends…gurl please!

It is all about balance!!

My 1200 lbs. Angel

I owned a horse once.
I was about 26 years old when I bought a horse.

I had been riding for most of my life and had hit the first of many life’s cross roads. My grand life plan was not working. The Universe had decided that the path I was on, wasn’t in fact my path. It had decided to kick me in the ass, as it forced me to realize that everything was not as it should be. My wind had been taken from me, my momentum had stalled, my breathe non-existent and before me was a path that I didn’t recognize.

I was a mess and I felt the Universe had injured me.

I didn’t trust anything.
So, I started to revert back to things that were familiar to me. I started to ride horses again, absorbing their essences, feeling their life forces, and, without realizing it, I had begun to help myself find my road less traveled.

Broker had been abused too. He physically, where my abuse was lifelong emotional neglect. It literally took him almost six months before he would allow me to touch his nose. He was perfect. Just the project I needed. So, I was patient, after all, I was injured too and valued his non-judgement of all my self-perceived issues. I had developed a precise skill of shutting out any human being I felt was a risk, so his hesitance with me was something I could relate to. I didn’t like people either.

Many nights, I would cry into his shoulder, my tears absorbed by his 17 hand shoulder. I think he got used to me crying, because before long, he bagan a pattern of hugging me back, stretching his head around my body resting his chin on my shoulder. Giving me the hug I so desperately needed. The protection I couldn’t find.

I bought him for about $1200.

But let’s be real. Relationships with horses are not all beautiful moments of breeches, hugs, green fields and apples. There are fights, disagreements, protests, confusion, problems, injuries, financial difficulties and poop, lots of poop. You get bitten, pushed, kicked and thrown. Then you get up. You try again. You learn.

Just like life.

Bubba passed away about ten years ago. My soul misses him and yet I live because of him. I am a functioning human being because of him, My Bubba, my angel. Thank you.


Labor day….whatever.

I don’t find being single a hard state to be in.
I really don’t.
I am just not a person who generally feels lonely. Afterall, I was raised in the middle of the flat corn fields, that is the Midwest, so I learned as a little girl to not think of being alone as a bad thing. 

However as an adult, what I find most challenging, is finding the motivation within myself to be “a part” of these weekends and holidays. Since I am single, I am solely responsible for finding my own entertainment. Sure, I will admit it, that when I am dating someone, it is always easier to fill in the holidays and the weekends. And since I was not created with an overly desperate desire to be regularly engaged with human beings, another person can be quite a great motivator. 

This weekend I have taken 4 naps, gone on 6 dog walks, watched 5 movies, attended 1 brunch, did my laundry, gave 2 cats a bath and gave myself an at-home hair treatment. Needless to say, I was lacking some motivation….