Posts from the Me Me Me Category

by Carmen Farrell

I’ve been with my guy for 18 years.  He pretty much knows me inside out.  And he likes what he’s got, for the most part.  But, just like he has quirks that make me cringe, I know there are things about me that drive him bonkers.  For today’s post about “me, me, me”, I thought I’d give some insight into who I am by telling you about several of the ways that I annoy my husband.

1.  I pee in the shower.  And I make no apologies for it either.  There’s a drain, and running water that rinses you off instantly.  I would argue that it’s even more sanitary than peeing in a toilet.  I don’t see what’s gross about it and I refuse to listen to anyone who would try to convince me that it is.  Done.  Him and I, we just don’t talk about it anymore.  It’s not worth getting divorced over.

2.  We made an agreement really early on in our relationship that whoever cooked would never have to clean up the aftermath.  I mean cooking’s work, so whoever got to sit around reading a book while dinner was being put on the table, has to put in the time afterwards.  Well, as it turns out, I cook 99% of the time.  Scott’s idea of cooking is heating up a frozen pizza.  So, yeah…he doesn’t get to handle dinner too often.  His huge complaint is that I dirty shit on purpose just to give him more work.  The truth is that I don’t do it on purpose.  But I have realized that I’m very liberal with the usage of utensils and pots.  There’s a disaster left over from preparing even the simplest of meals.  It’s just how I do.  I cook with gusto (and a little ADD) and before I know it, the sink is overflowing and I’m creeping away sheepishly.

3.  I fall asleep at movies…9 out of 10 times.  In the early days of our relationship it would be in a crowded movie theater (or at the Drive In – hello, let down!)  Nowadays its on the couch while in our pyjamas   We’ll start a great movie (sometimes even one of my picks) and I’ll be snoring a third of the way in.  I can’t help it.  The lights are low and I’m on a soft surface, for pete’s sake!  What drives him batty is that I’ll then pester him to give me a play by play of what I missed.  Yup, I’m THAT annoying bitch.  Oh, here’s a funny story…A few months ago I took my kids to see Madagascar 3 at the theater.  Of course, I fell asleep – slouched over into the empty seat next to me – about 20 minutes in.  The next thing I know, I’m coming to with the sensation that someone is poking me in the ribs.  It’s my 3 year old, and he’s whimpering, “M-m-m-ommy…. are you dead?”  Boom!  Traumatized kiddo.  I really have to start bringing a Red Bull or something.

There.  Those are but a few of my many “faults”.  How about you?  What drives your partner nuts about YOU?



As we bring our “me, me, me” month to an close, we O+U ‘ladies’ hope that you’ve enjoyed getting to know us a little bit better.  We are taking it easy for the month of December so that we can focus on the important things like family and drinking wine.   We’ll each be posting a photo or two throughout the month.  We may even have a couple of guest posts for your reading pleasure, but for the most part, we’re laying low.  Happy December to you and yours!

By Jill Greenwood

I’ll be honest with you (kinda a policy of mine); when I first got my first “proper” camera, I bought it because school got out for the summer. My sister and I had recently started blogging, and I was looking for a way to take better photos. So I bought a D40 and started snapping. I’d take a photo of a sock in progress and be mesmerized by the shot. And then spend the next two months trying to figure out what I’d done. When Jordan’s prom rolled around the next spring, I messed up half the photos when I forgot how to move the focus selection. Nothing like having great light with your beautiful daughter standing in front of you only to figure out later that she’s blurry as shit, but damn does that fence look stunningly focused.

But how to fix this problem. Why, I know! Just take photos. Take the damn camera out and depress the shutter. I’d take the camera to the back deck. Fool around with the settings. But the thought of taking a photo in public scared the living daylights out of me because I was afraid what people would say. Being painfully shy had a lot to do with it. Here’s where most people will laugh. “You? SHY?! What are you smoking?” most of my friends would say. “But you’ll talk to anybody . . . how do you figure you’re shy?” Because I am.

If you know me, then you probably won’t get me to shut up if we’re out in small groups. But put me in a group of five or more, and I’ll figure out how to make a quick and quiet exit. And if I can’t exit, I’ll either knit or drink. Sometimes both – again, that honesty policy. It can take me weeks or months – fine, years – for me to feel comfortable enough to let my guard down. Until that happens, I come off as bitchy. Evasive. Aloof. Pick an adjective that means vaguely douchey or slightly awkward and that’s probably been said about me. If I’m going to take a photo of something public, I’m much more likely to find a notebook or a coffee mug or my reflection in a window.

So, why then would I join the 100 Strangers project on Flickr*? Why would a person who took close to nine months to have a conversation with someone who worked a few doors down from her try to take photos of random strangers? Well, I don’t really know. Something about it made sense. Find someone out in public and begin a conversation with them. Thank god there’s no official time limit on this project because I’m taking my sweet time with it. But yesterday was a good day for me. I found a stranger, and I asked him if I could take his photo for a project I was working on. I engaged in semi-intelligent conversation about his job. And I think I did a decent job with it.

I’m not saying that photography has “cured” my shyness, but it’s certainly made it easier for me to make conversation with people. Granted, three-quarters of it is still awkward, but it’s conversation. Sometimes people will see what I’m focused on, and they’ll ask a question about it. Occasionally, they’ll tell me I can’t take photos of something. But usually it leads to some nice pleasantries exchanged. Or suggestions for the next place to explore.

Four strangers down . . . 96 more to go.

*Oh, Flickr, I miss you. I really, really, really do. Haven’t uploaded anything in almost three months. I need to change this soonish.

by Tiffani Michele

Do you remember when you were 4 and 5 and 6 and 7 and maybe even 8; and you played dress up, imaginary games, and acted with stuffed animals? Do you remember wanting to be 18 different things when you ‘grew up’, depending on your mood and/or what you learned about in school that particular day? Remember when you were just you, undefined by what you did/how much you earned/who your friends were/what other people thought of you? Remember being unselfconscious and able to make funny faces and do random shit as the mood struck?

Yeah, I don’t remember being like that either. But I know everyone has those moments in childhood mostly because I look at my own kids doing and being just like that, and I have pictures of me in various dress up clothes totally acting the part.

I can’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. But I know what I became: a student, then a wife, then an employee at various jobs I didn’t care about, then a mom, then a volunteer at assorted church/community positions. I became fulfilled in some of those roles and bored in others, but defined myself by all of them.

Now I’m in a no man’s land…not a wife. Not a churchgoer. Not a student. Not even a volunteer for anything anymore.

Where does that leave me?! Do I become something different when I’m not anything that I thought I was?

Do you? Have you ever reinvented yourself? Changed up your life in big and little ways? Decided to become something no one (including you) ever thought you’d be?

If you want to, you can easily shake up your life by doing one simple thing: just do the opposite of what you’d usually do. If you’d usually say yes to something, say no. Vice versa…say yes to other things if you’d usually say no. (Within reason, obviously!) It’s a bit like falling down the rabbit hole and experiencing vertigo on the cellular level.

I’m not who I thought I was. At first this was terrifying and paralyzing. A crisis in identity. And then, without the old constraints, I started becoming something more. Independent. Photographer. Traveler. Drinker. Dancer. Hooper. Writer. Entrepreneur. Lover. Hater. Saint. Sinner. I had a weird shift in awareness, understanding that my definition of myself is the only thing that defines who I am. If I get rid of the definition, then I don’t get rid of the “I”…I simply am “me.” And even better than that, I found that if I shift my definition of myself it likewise shifts how I perceive my place in the world.

Who am I? I’m nothing, and I’m everything.

And just who do you think you are?

What do I want to be today? It’s the same question, actually, that I probably asked myself when I was 3. And I probably answered it pretty simply then and in the same way I answer it now: “Whatever makes me blissfully happy.”

The bad news is that without a set definition of yourself, you’ll always be on the lookout for who you really are. Always searching. Always exploring. Always delving. The good news is that without a set definition of yourself, you’ll always be surprised at what you’ll find. Never a dull moment. Never a right or wrong way. And every moment can be shifted from being a way that isn’t working into being a way that does work.

And that’s how losing my identity has turned out to be the best thing for learning all about who *I* really am.

so winter is on where i live. i know the calendar says it is fall, but trust me on this one.  it is cold. it is dark at 4:20pm. D A R K. that is so not cool. once the snow begins to fall it will stick around til sometime mid march or april. i love summer. i love sun. i like to be tan. i like to be barefoot. none of this winter stuff bodes well for me. so what does a girl like me do?   develop some serious coping skills, that’s what. i have a few…

  • candles.  i now buy them like i do milk.  each week a new box of taper candles comes home with me. i light them around 4:15 and burn them all the way down. thank you trader joes.
  • chicken and dumplings. (trust me this stuff has medicinal qualities.)
  • loaveS of banana bread.  some with chocolate chips, some plain, occasionally one just for me loaded with walnuts.
  • color. red mostly. favorite red cardigan. favorite red toque. red plaid scarf.
  • trinkets from sunny california. i bought myself a sweet vintage enamel ring (a yellow flower) and a vintage melmac plate (also with yellow and orange flowers) as my souvenirs from my time in palm springs.  i plan on pulling them out all winter long and pretending i am back in sunny california. this could work right?
  • big tub of petroleum jelly. in winter my skin holds its very own protest. my lips crack. my hands crack. my heels crack. last year i discovered by covering myself in good old petroleum jelly i can avoid most of this. it is not at all trendy or sexy, but it IS a heck of a lot sexier than i am without it.
  • strings of twinkle lights.  not just for christmas.  therapeutic.
  • if i was more of a drinker i would list whiskey, but alas i am a lightweight, probably the biggest lightweight of the bunch, so instead how about some spiced chai latte.  again, thank you trader joes.

come february winter will undoubtedly break me and i will be crying sobbing in my chai, but for now i am finding comfort in these few things.

so tell me your tricks. what am i missing to help get me through the next 5 months?

i will sit here in the dark and stare at my twinkle lights and wait for your answer.

and this isn’t the post i was planning on putting up here today. i’m a major slacker when it comes to blogging, so my plan was to shoot the photos i wanted to use and work on the post last night. yes, i procrastinate that much. instead, you’ll get a very brief run down of the day i had and also a  good idea for why this post will suck (and it will).

spoiler:  my head is in a cloudy, disoriented state of funked-upness. actually, that sounds rather enjoyable. so scratch that. read on, bear with me, and forgive the excuse.

our day started off fairly normal. bea needing to be fed immediately upon waking; henry burrowing back under the covers. bea satisfied with food finally being in front of her, i was able to pour myself a coffee. the two of us transfer ourselves over to the couch with a stack of books and henry finally joins us. soon we’re back at the kitchen table making ourselves busy with creations like a care bear cloud car, glittered snowflakes, hand turkey drawings, and stringing beads. we’re all in good spirits and i’m looking forward to a productive day. again, they want to be fed (what is with these kids and needing food!!), so i make lunch. that’s when the curve ball comes. henry asks me if he can go lie down and rest. huh? come again? this is not a typical request and this is not a good sign. i feel his head, he’s burning up,  we all go upstairs to my room, get cozy in the bed and start a movie (brave). bea is asleep in minutes. henry is apparently still hungry because i am making repeated trips to the kitchen to retreive snacks for him to voraciously consume. bea wakes up right as the movie ends and i discover fever number two; this one is even higher than henry’s. needless to say, much of the day was spent in beds or on couches with cartoons, care bears, and books.

luckily, i had baked a chicken the night before and had everything needed to make a pot of homemade chicken soup. so i chopped, seasoned, and stirred. matt came home from work and finished it up for me, because wouldn’t you know it, i started to feel like shit.

i swear to you that i rarely get sick, but the odds seem greater the closer it gets to thanksgiving. this is a somewhat recent development, too (maybe since henry was born?). this is some bad karma rolling my way because i love thanksgiving, it’s my favorite holiday. i think it’s fair to say that i am miserable to be around when i’m sick. i don’t like to be touched, can’t handle a lot of noise, and don’t even bump into the bed or couch on which i’m resting my sick ass. i growl a lot. okay, i do that even when i’m not sick. not the mood to be in when you should be gathering with friends and family. damn it. so, last night i gave up soon after dinner. my throat hurt and my head was heavy. i went to bed and stayed there. but, did i sleep? no, because sleep is not my friend. i watched a shit ton of television instead. the voice (my guilty pleasure; cut me some slack), rachel maddow, and then back to back viewings of to kill a mockingbird. that’s right, i watched it twice and i probably would’ve watched it a third time if it had been on again. but, it wasn’t and i finally fell asleep around 3 o’clock in the morning.

i awoke this morning to children whose fevers may have passed (yay!) and also to feeling like i swallowed a piece of burning coal. my throat and chest are on fire, my head feels like it weighs 50 pounds. i’m typing this out while eating leftover soup and drinking cold coffee (don’t ask, it tastes terrible yet i keep drinking it).  i keep putting my head down on the desk because i’m tired of holding it up with my neck. after i hit publish i am going to search my movies to see if i own there will be blood because i have been wanting to watch that again for months and i can’t remember if i bought it or not. then it’s back to bed (and yes, i’ll watch to kill a mockingbird if it is on again today). at some point my goal is to make myself sit outside with a book to get some fresh air and sunshine (i would really, really like to be feeling well by tomorrow andi think the combination of these things will help). so, now you know i’m a lazy bum and a whiner when i’m sick. and rightly so; no one wants to be sick on thanksgiving.

anyway, i hope all of you are in good health, good spirits, and surrounded by loved ones tomorrow (and always).

have a safe and happy thanksgiving!

By Jill Greenwood

I’ve thought it was Tuesday all day. I lie . . . at 1:30 PM, I thought it was Friday. In my defense, I was wearing jeans and rushing to get my students, and that normally only occurs on a Friday. Cut me a break. Parent/Teacher Conferences are tomorrow, and I’m dreading them. Quite frankly, as much as parents dread them, feeling like they are in trouble meeting with a bunch of teachers, teacher dread them, too.

And this month is hard. I don’t know who suggested “Me” as a theme, but damn, it’s hard to talk about yourself. Couple that with the fact I couldn’t tell you what the day is, and you get a post with lame-ass shit and old photos. If that’s OK with you, read on. If not, come back when someone else has her ass in gear.

  • Whenever we stay over in Philadelphia, we always seem to wind up at the South Street Diner. I always get the eggs Benedict. South Street does a pretty mean dish; the best Benedict, however, is Eggspectations in Montreal.
  • Peanut butter is my Achilles heel. If there’s a jar of it in the house, I’ll dig in and eat it by the spoonful.
  • I’ve never played Angry Birds, but because my name is the one attached to our iTunes account, my scores are in the top 1%. Clearly, I’m destined for the big time.
  • I finally figured out what was wrong with my camera. Turns out I had the ISO locked at way too high a number, and everything has been grainy. Embarrassed? Sure. Real photographer? Fuck, no.
  • I bought collars for our cats this past weekend. Nothing has amused me more than watching them try to take them off. Nothing.

  • I suck at art. Like drawing a straight line is challenging to me. Playing Draw Something with my daughter is supremely challenging.
  • Music from commercials makes up a huge portion of my iTunes library. So do covers. I love covers. Except “When the Stars Go Blue.” The original is better.
  • My students thought that I was really going to audition for our school musical and were upset because a teacher might take a part they could have had. Granted, I did sing for the director and the assistant director, but that was simply because the words for the audition song were ingrained into my head.
  • Cheese. Highly underrated food. You should look into that.

So that’s it . . . it’s Monday. I’m using old photos. You get lame bits about me.

-Erika “I’m high on paint fumes” Ray

I can relate to Carmen’s post in one huge way: I have NO idea what to write.  One, I thought I had a few days.  Two, haven’t I rambled enough about myself?  What could be new and fresh?  Well, I came up with jack shit.  Or I didn’t spend enough time thinking of something new or fresh.  It’s probably the first one because I’m pretty fucking lazy.  My posts usually pop up in my head a few days before the deadline or over-night for my blog.  I don’t have a stash of topics to write about as I don’t really know anything.  I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of chick.
So I won’t rehash my loves or my hates (i.e. Howard Stern and people brushing their teeth).  I’ll tell you current nuggets about our move.  Considering it’s the only thing on my mind these days.

  • I used to hate painting.  For decades, I was shitty at it.  Sometimes I was shitty on purpose so I didn’t have to paint.  I’m not ashamed that I’ve done a few bad swipes in order to drop the brush forever.  But facing an entire house in drab taupe, I knew I needed to pitch in.   Found out that I enjoyed it and was pretty good at it.  Primed and finished almost half of the bottom half of our house.  After that?  I’m back to my hatred of painting.  My right side is sore whenever I look at a roller.  One more room and we’re done DONE.
  •  Curtains are my nemesis.  I hate them.  I want to cut the shit out of every curtain I see, try, and take back.  I fucking hate curtains.  And when you do find the semi-perfect ones, you have to iron them.  All 84 inches.  Four times when you’re covering two windows!  I just finished some roman shades for our kitchen.  Found the perfect material.  Used my gift certificate money.  Waited.  Bought a pattern.  Sewed.  Had my mom sew.  Forced Mark to mount them to the wall.  You know the end of this story, huh?  They look like pure shit dipping over the kitchen sink.  Gorgeous cotton materialized into pure shit.  Back to square one.
  •  We’ve been living without a couch in our family room since we moved in.  Why didn’t we move the living room couch into the family?  Because I wanted one room to look semi-finished.  I don’t care if only the dog sits in the living room.  I want one room that doesn’t look exactly like a crack den.
  • Next time we move, we’re buy a kegertor.  No joke.  Beer seems to go with a move.  Paint with a beer.  Lay floor with a beer.  Argue over curtains, have a beer! Smash your thumb with the hammer?  Beer break.  We’re closing in on the “This looks livable and OK for now” which means we’re closing in on the end of beer.  Next time, we’re getting a keg.  Who cares if we’re in our sixties?
  • I have a two car garage and winter is knocking.  We’ve never had a useable garage.  We bought this house dreaming of a morning NOT spent chipping away at ice.  You know the end of this story too?  Can’t park a car in it.  Next winter is going to be awesome.  I think.
  • All my hobbies are acting up.  Sewing machine needs serviced and possibly replaced.  My camera has been a bitch for the past 6 months.  All my soul savers need some lovin’.  But that kind of care means money.  And we’ve got one house still on the market and another house that needs another can of paint.  More lamps.  At least one bed frame.  Blah, blah, blah…

When we bought our first home, we knew it was temporary.  The day we signed the papers and called it ours, we knew it wasn’t our “Die in home.”  So from that day, we prepared for the next house: saving money and putting off address stamps.  Someday we’d be in the house our boys would grow to call their home.  The home that hopefully one day, they’ll pack their bags and leave behind.  I say “hopefully” not because I can’t wait for them to move out (well…), but “hopefully” because this home is where we’ll create our roots.  Doors will be slammed with anger.   Walls will shelter apologies.  Doorways will hold secret kisses.  The kitchen will nourish hundreds of tummies.  The backyard will be a blanket for imaginary adventures.  This house will be our home.  And that’s why every argument over curtains, smashed thumb, or a sore right side is completely worth it.

by Carmen “Do I Have To?” Farrell

It should be no surprise to some of you that I had to get drunk to write this post.  My O+U ladies know that I’ve struggled with my writing here.  I was slated to write just one post for last month’s “women” theme and dropped the ball because I just couldn’t figure out what the hell to write about.  This month, it’s all about me.  And yet, I struggle.  I know myself well – and like myself quite a whole lot.  But to write about myself?  Hmmm.  Pass the wine.

I’ve come to understand that I’m an introvert with extrovert tendencies.  I can totally do a large group.  I can absolutely schmooze for 8 hours straight and enjoy it.  But I’ll need a week and a half of quiet time to process it all and get back to my normal self.  I’m that person who asks you a ton of questions about yourself (my husband would even say that 75% of those questions are completely inappropriate).  I do that not only because I’m extremely interested in people’s experiences and what makes them tick, but it also keeps the focus on them, and not on me.  That’s how I like it.  I don’t LOVE talking about myself.  Not because I have self-esteem issues, but because  verbalizing who I am and what makes me tick is not something that appeals to me.  I’m the therapist, not the patient.  It’s how it’s always been.

Anyhow, I’m pushing through because I need to pull my weight at this web address.  The past few nights I’ve gone to bed brainstorming ideas for this post.  For the love of all that is holy, I tried to come up with an interesting hook or pleasing angle to approach this describing of who I am.  I wanted to do something other than  a list of things about me.  Several of my cohorts here have done that very well already and I didn’t want to simply be a copy-cat.  But you know what, I’d fall asleep before anything interesting came to me.  So suckers, here’s a list after all!

  • Gluten hates me.  It makes me feel all sorts of bad.  But I can’t shake it.  I’ll go weeks without it and then, suddenly, I’m inhaling a croissant and going off the rails big time.
  • I love cooking but hate baking.  I’m not crazy for eating baked goods either.  I’d happily take a sumptuous, savoury dish over a slice of cake any day.
  • If I could make love to a well-made gin and tonic, I would.  I just love them that much.
  • Tickling makes me ape-shit mad.  Try to tickle me and you’ll likely end up with my fist in your face.  Whether you’re my mom, or my 3 year old, it’s a ridiculous reflex. When I’m tickled, I instantly start punching.
  • I can’t help but insert a shit or fuck into sentences.  It’s just more interesting that way.  I once had a friend comment that swearing is just a sign of a lazy mind.  Well, fuck…I’ve got the laziest mind around.  And that’s just fine.
  • As a kid I lived beside a church that held wedding receptions in their basement every Saturday.  One Saturday I walked in back the door, pulled the fire alarm and ran like hell.  I still feel guilty, and slightly exhilarated.
  • I hate having my picture taken.  I’m not particularly photogenic and only come out looking that way in photos once in a blue moon.  That’s why you’re getting a couple of photos of me that are several years old.  Deal with it.

Above all else, I’m a kind-hearted, fun-loving chick.  I’m pretty sure that if I died today people would remember me fondly.  That’s good enough for me.

by Tiffani “No Longer In Her 30’s” Michele

I was going to title this “Aging Gracefully”, but that lent to images in my head of a lovely woman in creme pants and lacy blouse with pink cheeks and gold earrings slowly sipping on tea while lounging in a chinzy chair. And that aint me. I’m known to wear a inappropriately short dress that makes me look like a discoball. I love to make my hair look like colors more suited to frosting on top of cupcakes. I like to dance and sing much too loudly. I love wearing neon colors.

So then I was going to title this “Aging Not So Gracefully” but that lent to images in my head of a used to be party girl a la Pamela Anderson with stringy hair, ashy skin, lips hashed with lines from puffing on cigarettes, and a body hammered by years of thoughtless living. And that aint me either. I’m careful about drinking enough water, getting enough rest, and stretching in the morning. I love feeling strong, athletic, and grounded. Hard drugs aren’t in my past or future, and the only thing I might drink to excess some nights is whiskey.

I almost went with, “Aging, She’s a Bitch!” but she’s really not. Age is another word for experience when it comes to humans, and if someone offered to give me one year back in exchange for one big experience I’ve had in the last 40 years I would stay 40 instead of cashing 20 things in and going back to 20. I know my body intimately now in ways I couldn’t connect to before. My emotions run deep and I have a huge gratitude for this vessel I’m in. I love how strong it is, I love the babies it’s carried, I super love all the orgasms it’s given me, I love how it’s hair grows fast enough to let me color/cut/shave/style it anyway I want and it will always go back to normal, I love it’s insights and confidence.

So, OK, how about, “Aging, She’s Not a Bitch!” but she kind of is. I’m not so zen that I look at the wrinkles around my eyes and call them laugh lines. Things are sagging that used to be…not saggy. Things are softening up that used to be…not soft. Things are stretched and pulled and wrinkled that used to be…not. I watch my teenage daughter develop into the woman I used to be–taut belly, smooth face, firm breasts and a perky butt–and understand a little bit where Snow White’s stepmother was coming from. I’m not proud of that, I just kind of get it though!

As you can tell, aging has left me just as convoluted and all over the place as anything else in my life. I’m a walking contradiction. I like to say, “I contain multitudes”, a line right out of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself. I also accept this reason from my kids when I ask them why the heck they’ve done what they’ve done (because kids really do some crazy shit that makes no sense whatsoever). It really covers a lot.

So. Maybe that’s just it. I contain multitudes. I make no apologies for it. Some days I’m strong, others I’m weak. Some days I know what is going on, others I walk around thinking, “What the fuck?”. I don’t have all the answers. I’m brash and bold and shy and scared. I don’t play by the rules much anymore.

Always always now, I am me.

The first 40 years of my life I feel like were lived for everyone else. For 40 years it was all about what other people liked/wanted/needed/thought/felt/opined. The next 40? It’s the “Me Show”. Some people get it, some don’t. I’m not for everyone. For the first time ever, at this point in my life I don’t really care to be for everyone. I don’t really care to follow someone else’s rules all the time. I know myself well enough to know what I need to do to keep me happy and fulfilled.

I tried to find a horoscope or fortune to tell me what was in store for me in the next year. The fortunes from Panda Express were lame (anyone notice how lame fortunes are getting? They’re more like bossy parents…”do something nice for someone else”…wtf?!) and the horoscopes were all wrong. And then, when I walked into the photobooth with my kids to do a birthday photobooth, there it was. The writing on the wall. The sage words from an Oracle.

Are you ready for what’s in store for the next year? Feel free to join in!

i am a simple girl. i like simple things.

10 dollars in my pocket and an hour to myself at goodwill and i am a very happy camper.

thrifting is my therapy of choice. pyrex bowls and coffee mugs, vintage pillowcases, melmac plates, and shoes are my weakness….

i do not have a green thumb, but i keep trying.

i prefer to be barefoot, but it is almost winter here so i love me a soft pair of slippers (no socks).
and blue jeans, always blue jeans…

i collect stuff.  leaves. shells. seaglass. feathers. wine corks. mason jars full of all of these things litter my windowsills and mantle. oh, and i have a knack for finding love where ever i go.

scarves make me happy…

i have a big heart that and a loud laugh.  i look like my daddy.  i bite my nails, but am trying to quit. i love to dip buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon into my mug of hot chocolate. i sing loud in my car. i love a hot shower. i cook a great pot of chicken and dumplings and bake a pretty good pie. i prefer iced tea and lemonade, but a cold can of pbr is pretty great too. i make blonde babies and sew imperfect quilts. i have great teeth and terrible knees.  i love the wildness of the ocean, and the quiet of the woods. graffiti, snail mail. and kid art makes me happy. i am 40 years old and finally feel like i like me.

enough about me…. tell me something about you.