Alright. I don’t know if this is advice or anti-advice, but it’s something, and now you’ll know it, too, instead of me just carrying it around in my head all by myself where it should probably stay locked up forever.
Here’s the sitch: We bought a stunning farm in Oregon. And we’re working on the farm — a LOT these days — hoping to open early summer as a private park. ...
I’m really not to blame here.
Hawaii’s to blame.
After all, I have terrible ideas and am historically irresponsible. A quick search of the internet by Hawaii would have revealed this and more. So the fact that Hawaii failed to avail itself of a simple online background check before allowing me on her beaches demonstrates negligence on her part, and everyone knows negligence = culpability. ...
You know how sometimes you wish you had more than two thumbs to give? Like, when you’re all, TWO THUMBS UP to your friends but then you wish you had three thumbs because they brought cookies? Or four because they said your kids probably won’t all grow up to be serial killers? In those moments, I’m all, “I REGRET THAT I HAVE BUT TWO THUMBS TO GIVE, friends.” They deserve so much more. ...
Dear friends,
Just a teeny, tiny quick tip for you today.
If somebody says, “Hey! You look really nice today,” maybe just say thank you.
Thank you is enough.
Thank you is not as awkward as Other Options.
Thank you is socially appropriate. And, sweet friend, you actually do not need to offer an excuse for looking nice.
Maybe, for example, do not say, “Yeah, I would’ve worn my usual jeans except I put them on last night to go out, and I realized they smell like butt. I suppose I should’ve expected that since I can’t remember the last time I washed them, but it still came as a surprise. I sprayed them with perfume, which, as you might suspect, made them smell like Perfume and Butt. It really wasn’t an improvement over Just Butt, but at least it’s the smell of I Tried, you know? I wore them anyway because I was already running late, but I vowed I would not wear them again until I actually wash them because I have standards. Eventually. I have Eventual Standards. So, because I’ve put on, like, 30 pounds over the last couple years, I only have the one pair of jeans right now, which means the inner thighs are practically see-through and in imminent danger of ripping and presenting a serious social hazard. This dress is the only other thing that fits. So, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, that’s why I look nice, I guess. My butt-smelling jeans are on the fritz.” ...
Dear the Internets,
This is a cautionary tale.
Let’s say you have a kid at college.
And let’s say that college is in Hawaii.
Let’s say your kid chose that college because, OMG, BEACHES.
And let’s say she’s using those beaches to her full advantage.
Let’s say she has an Instagram account.
And let’s say it’s full of beach and bikini pics, because that’s apparently her area of giftedness. ...
Here’s everything I know right now about how I am: I’m Not Worse.
Not Worse. HOORAY!
I feel like this might be confusing. Or discouraging to a Normal Person. Not Worse when you’re really Fairly Terrible and like you Can’t Breathe doesn’t seem particularly encouraging, after all. But if you’re sliding naked down a steep hill, and the hill is covered in brambles, and also shards of glass, and also razor blades, and you Stop Sliding so you’re only bare and bleeding, but not actively incurring more injury, you feel a little celebratory. A little jubulent. A little like, yes, I’m still bleeding out, but SLOWER NOW, so HOORAY! ...
Dear Tomicka Who Works the Night Shift at the Crowne Plaza at the Seattle Airport,
I don’t know how many frantic phone calls you field every night. I don’t know how many of those come from mommies who are too far away from their kids to help them. I don’t know how many times you have to calm them the heck down and tell them not to worry because you’ve got this. I don’t know if this was old hat to you or a first. All I know is, you handled it like a rock star. ...
