I like Pink. I didn't know I did until recently. And, of course, I mean the musical artist and not the color. A friend of my family's was selling her concert tickets in a nearby city along with her latest CD as part of a package. He gave me an extra CD, which was super cool otherwise I may have never known how much I like Pink.
"Why can't you just understand that I'm hurting and need to vent, cry and wail? Don't try and fix me. Let me be my miserable self, OK?" I've had tears stream down my face as I try to explain my hurt, only to get more frustrated that the help I'm offered is to "just calm down," or I'm questioned with, "Why are you so crazy?" It would be better if I were told to "get more hysterical," or someone said, "I don't know why you're so upset, but it's OK."
We didn't let our oldest of four sons watch Power Rangers when he was young, even though he desperately wanted to. And the reason was, I dunno, maybe the magic and power of the Rangers might confuse him with the power of Christ or something like that, or maybe they're bad role models? Yeah, well, good for us, because in 2008 when our youngest son was six years old all he could talk about was his love for the red Power Ranger. We had caved.
No matter our age, if we're honest there's this letdown that comes after all the gifts are unwrapped at Christmastime. Isn't the anticipation of actually giving and receiving a gift, the experience of it all, that brings us the greatest joy? I think the same sort of letdown happens with the unwrapping of people. Each of us is a gift and we all have beauty within, but we're also flawed. When our messes are unwrapped and our ugly behaviors exposed, we disappoint people and ourselves.
I have embraced the color orange like nobody's business. I like the color. It's a good color on me, and I'm saying this even after I have had to wear orange in jail for a Feb. 28, 2017 DUI arrest.
It started with a refrigerator. Four days and nights was the amount of time my two youngest sons, David, Joe and I had booked for a hotel stay in Fargo, while we attended musical theatre productions and connected with friends. We could not afford to dine out the entire time, so a quick call down to the front desk brought us a refrigerator free of charge.
About seven years ago I never really ate breakfast--unless you counted the Diet Coke and chips. I ate what I wanted when I wanted. At age 41, standing in my kitchen while eating and drinking what I pleased, I remember thinking: "I feel so great! I wonder how long I will be able to keep this diet going."
I hate this about myself. It's my hair. I keep cutting it. Honestly, I can say that, in our wee small town of 7,000, I know every hair stylist in every salon and they know me. Karley cuts hair--she just moved into town--and she and I have become fast friends. I obsess. I want change and so I obsess on something I can control on the outside and ignore the inside turmoil, which is exactly the place I need to look at for change and any real healing or peace. I knew I was spiraling and needed intervention, but I wanted my way. As I traveled to speaking
My feet hurt. I say that almost every day because I'm usually on them for at least five hours or more with minimal down time. I am a waitress at Barajas Mexican Bar and Grill where all servers bartend, too. It's my summer job--or perhaps it's for a longer season--but it's a good fit and "role" for me in small town USA, population 7,000.
I love being liked and I think it's safe to say I am not in the minority. Social media alone reveals that a lot of time and effort goes into managing an image that makes you irresistible, adorable, fun, wise and witty, on-trend and authentic.