I am a worrier. I was raised by a worrier, a worrier who did not just worry about our family, but worried about the population of the entire world, the planet, with back-up worries that involved the universe. Hilarous, but totally true. Seriously. If I want to make myself laugh today, all I have to do is think of my worry wart father during this election. I think he would have rolled up into the fetal position until the whole damn thing was over.
And it’s not a bad idea.
I used to worry more. I used to make myself sick. I am better, although still not completely worry free. I can still ruminate about things, go over and over and over them in my head. I can still borrow worries when I can’t generate enough of my own.
But I do it much less. I do what I can about the issue, then just try and hightail it out of there. I let life go a little. It’s so much better than holding on. And worrying until your stomach feels like it’s trying to digest a stick of dynamite.
Letting it go a little. Letting it be. Letting myself move through instead of get stuck. Gratitude for learning to shimmy my way out of the mud. And breathe.
Yesterday I drove my friend Leah to Rhode Island to adopt a rescue dog.
It was emotional and adorable.
Phoebe appears to be pretty perfect in the pup division. She is friendly and adaptable, and when she arrived home, didn’t even have a reaction to Leah’s cat. I have to say (cover your ears, Riley), I sort of fell in love with her.
Leah’s first rescue dog Stanley, a one-of-a-kind, who always reminded me of the cutest Dr. Seuss character, died about six months ago, after living with Leah for a decade. Leah’s a great dog parent, and gave Stanley, who came to her with six types of worms, skittish, and terrified, a loving home with loads of attention. But Stanley, all of like, six pounds was so small he could get trampled by big dogs (even small big dogs) and this made it hard for her to walk him without fear. In other words, she loved that little guy, but he made dog ownership a little bit challenging. Miss Phoebe seems to have an easy going personality that will charm other dogs and people alike. Even Stanley would love her. (Did I mention I might want to dog-nap her?)
Anyway, I am so GRATEFUL for dogs, the big ones and the small ones. They make the world such a much better place (ESPECIALLY during election season).
Calm and cool, she killed it. Hillary Clinton, the first woman presidential candidate was prepared and poised in last night’s debate. She made Donald Trump look like the impetuous imposter he is (as if he needs any help with that). With a vocabulary of approximately 40 words, more facial expressions than an orangutan, and some bold faced lies, Hillary clearly crushed the reality star. Hey Donald, you’re fucking fired.
It’s clear that many Americans desperately want change and think a political outsider can bring it. However, Trump is not the right choice for the job. As Jordan Stratton tweeted, “Since Bernie didn’t win the nomination, I’m gonna vote for Trump. Also, since the store didn’t have my favorite beer, I’m gonna drink bleach.” That sums this race up for me. I respect anyone who feels the system is broken and wants something different, I just don’t understand wanting that something different to be an impulsive man who acts like a boastful and insecure 8th grade boy, who must pat himself on the back every few minutes, and deliver half-truths and bold-faced lies. (Did he really say he has a great temperament, a better temperament than Hillary?)
There is too much at stake here to take a risk on a reality tv star who is living in his own reality (where facts are optional). Hillary is smart. Hillary is composed and measured, experienced and ready to be the leader of the free world. Donald Trump is not ready (hell, he’s barely ready for prime time, let alone the Oval). There is a clear choice here. One of the candidates is ready to lead. One of them is ready to lead us onto the set of The Apprentice. This is serious business. We can’t afford to have an apprentice.
Between the election, and the bombs in NY and NJ and the police killing of black men for seemingly no reason, I gotta turn up the good news, be grateful for the people out there who are giving, who are helping out. Are you with me? We need to focus on some good shit, people.
Who doesn’t remember the provocative lunchroom scene where you don’t know where to sit, and you are paralyzed for several moments and want to crawl under a table instead of sit at one? Look what this girl did. You can grow up to be president, Natalie Hampton.
I love Ron Alton. Way to raise a girl, or a boy for that matter. YOU are amazing.(Make sure to watch the video. I’m going to start doing this today!)
For the past three years a student at City College Norwich has been sending positive messages to people who are having a hard time. She calls it the “Sending a Smile” project. Kudos, kid!
Do something nice for someone today. Something small, something big (Like my friend Beth, who is asking people to celebrate her 51st birthday by giving her 51 gift cards for women and kids who need them via the fab organization she works for.) Just do something positive today. Inspiring stories, people who go the extra block, people who give, make us want to do better. We gotta drown out the bad juju, guys. You know what I always say–there is more good than bad……
Ah, the pain. The horrible and intense sadness that lingers at the thought that Brangelina is no more. They were the great hope that a couple could be movie star gorgeous, but also smart and philanthropic and talented and family oriented. They were the Hollywood ending we were all rooting for. Who didn’t want them to stay together forever, just so you could look at the relationship with envy and know that somebody had won the perfect life lottery.
Brad and Jen were cute. They were adorably cute, but Brad and Angelina were hot and sexy, tree hugging world citizens, adopting kids from other countries, creating a United Nations-like family, while still creating film. Beautiful to look at–yes–but also such do-gooders, such super hip leaders. They weren’t flashy, they were down to earth, with barefoot kids and photo spreads that paid them oodles, which they gave to charity.
I’m a sucker for a happy ending. Don’t we all love a love story? This one’s disintegration feels sad. They seemed real, and not a celluloid fantasy. I hate it when that happens.
It’s not like I was born in the 1800’s with hoop skirts and servants, but I gotta just say that my kids are growing up in a vastly different landscape than the one I grew up in.
I get a little kooky when bombings and shootings happen and just a little obsessed with news coverage. Today, I flipped on CNN because I got like, six NYT alerts to let me know that Ahmad Khan Rahami was caught, and that it appeared he’d been responsible for the bombs in Chelsea this weekend.
For a moment, I looked at his face, which looked pained, because he apparently had been shot, but was clearly conscious. And I just thought, as a mom, or maybe just as a human being, what happened to you, why did you do this. Ok, innocent until proven guilty, but let’s say he’s guilty for the sake of this argument, he and I share some form of humanness, don’t we? And that shared bit, made me so sad for this man, because I wondered, truly want to understand, what went wrong? What is it that brought him to this point in time.
A stabbing in a Minnesota mall, a bombing at a 5K in New Jersey and a bomb that went off in NYC– another dismantled before it could, just a few blocks away, all this weekend. I worried about my career, rent, and AIDS (which was terrifying–maybe it’s this generation’s terrorism?) in my twenties. I didn’t worry about bombs or terrorist attacks, popping up at brunch or walking down the street. I couldn’t have known what I didn’t know, and I’m grateful for that. My kids aren’t so lucky. And neither are yours.
Even though I missed the red carpet because I was at my daughter’s soccer game and then stocking her room with groceries (it’s amazing what you can fit into a teeny tiny dorm fridge), I am still going to comment on the carpet. That’s how dedicated I am to giving you my useless opinions on fashion.
The worst, because it is just so much more fun. And that’s why we’re here, am I right?
1.Laura Carmichael. Did Lady Mary MAKE you wear this?
Let’s just start by saying I love tulle. I never met a piece of tulle I didn’t want to marry, but a yellow vest with tulle, um that would be a no, never, a “you’re trying to fuck with us and see if we call you out.” This is truly in a class all its own. And as if the two colors together, weren’t bad enough, the daisy just seals the deal. I mean we are in Bjork swan dress territory as far as I’m concerned. Granny is going to be pissed.
2. Anna Chlumsky. I hate it, but I bet it was fun to wear.
This is basically what everyone would love to wear to an award show. I mean it’s essentially wrapping yourself up in your comforter and walking the carpet. She just had a baby a couple weeks ago, so there’s that, but this is one disastrous look.
3. Mandy Moore. I’ll see you at the prom.
This is such a bush league mistake–you are on the red carpet, not running for homecoming queen. There are too many ruffles, it’s an ugly color. Her hair looks like a 70’s senior high school yearbook portrait. It does match the color of the Emmys type behind her, so I’ll give her a point for that…..
4. Amy Poehler. Is that turf she’s wearing?
I love her. She is the funniest, but nothing funny about this dress. At all. Not even one little giggle. I hate it. It could be a sexy golf course. “Fore.”
5. Gwendoline Christie. Game of Moans.
What is that fabric? Leather? Pleather? Ugly? I pick number three. And where did that black pleated skirt thing come from? Is there another dress underneath? Could it be uglier than this one? I do not think so.
And onto the girls who got it right.
Kerry Washington. Hot mamma.
Oh baby, this is a gorgeous look from head to toe. She looks naturally beautiful. Baby on board: you got one pretty mommy.
2. Padma Lakshmi. Top chef host sizzles.
Someone got out the good silver. I love the simplicity of this dress. It fits her body like the glove didn’t fit O.J.
3. Kristen Bell. Really pretty, plus flamingos!
This is so not a dress I would ordinarily like, but damn it, she looks perfect in this embroidered jungle. Plus I love the styling. Her hair is a 10 for me. Young and fresh.
4. Sarah Hyland. Who doesn’t love pants with a dress?
I’m guessing this will be an unpopular choice, but let me just say, if I could dress up and down black leggings or pants for the rest of my life, I would (oh, I forgot, I already do). I like it. There, I said it. And I love the sandals.
5. Tatiana Maslany. One look representing so many personalities.
This Orphan Black actress plays several sisters who all have different personalities. You have to wonder how she decided to fashionably represent them all (OH, WAIT, she’s not really them. I forgot, she’s a REAL PERSON). I like this a lot. Simple. Modern. Winning.
I just finished reading the book Love Warrior, and if you’re a woman you might want to read it too. No, I’m not a recovering bulimic, alcoholic, or drug addict, with marriage issues, which the author Glennon Doyle Melton is, but this book isn’t just about her addictions or her relationship with her husband. This book is about much more–it’s about the trap women can so easily fall into, when it comes to finding their place in the world. It’s about what we should look like, how we should act, what is acceptable and what is not.
Yes, this is an Oprah Book Club pick (but don’t not read it because you’re one of those people who can’t stand Sister O.) I’d heard about this book prior to Oprah’s ordainment on Elizabeth Gilbert’s Facebook page. Melton is a skilled writer, and her story is a poignant one. I had not previously been a reader of her blog Monastery, although I had heard of it. Turns out she describes herself as a “truth teller,” and well, I’m all for broadcasting what might help someone else, even if it isn’t stuff that’s considered ok to talk about. She goes there, and beyond. And I am grateful for anybody willing to say what is, despite embarrassment. To me, that’s real power.
Last night my friend Jocelyn asked me to go to a book reading, on account of the fact that the book was so up my alley. The book is called !n Prai$e of Pr#fanity by Michael Adams.
Um, yeah, we all get why she thought I might like it.
I have not read the book yet because I was too busy swearing to read it, not really, I haven’t read it because I just got it, what am I Evelyn Wood? (Is that a wasted analogy, does anybody remember commercials for the Evelyn Wood Speed Reading Course from, like the 70’s?)
Adams read several passages and they were interesting and pretty funny, too. He himself doesn’t swear. (What the fuck?) But he makes some very good points about why those of us who do swear, do swear. And he explores some of the historical background of words like my personal favorite “fuck.” There is apparently something satisfying about the ability to “throw” the word out of your mouth because of its consonants. I’m all for swearing satisfaction.
Anyway, if you know someone like me, you might just have your holiday shopping in the bag.