Actual conversation with a kid at daycare:
Her: "I love you."
Me: "I love you, too!"
Her: "Not you! I was talking to myself."
Today my Dad said that he didn't like Smash Mouth, and my brother reacted as if my Dad had just shot him.
I read the poem on Tumblr today, and it means a lot to me right now, so I thought I'd save it here.
For Twenty-One year olds who have never been loved
All of a sudden two decades have passed and you still have not kissed anyone with tongue, or kissed anyone at all for that matter, or had a 3 AM conversation with someone who would rather look into your eyes for ten minutes straight than talk. You have never worn a lover’s sweater or “forgotten” it at home in your bedroom just so you would have an excuse to see them again. You have never even stood face-to-face with someone who makes your hands shake so hard it feels like they’re both having a separate anxiety attack.
This causes you much guilt and self-blame and sadness but above all, an overwhelming curiosity. Are you really that ugly, that unwanted, that uninteresting, that boring, that no one, absolutely no one, has ever looked at you like the only thing on earth?
The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen.
At times you felt so lonely you could stand at the edge of a cliff with nothing beneath you but air and grass and a long, long way down, and you’d still feel emptier than that canyon itself. Maybe you even danced with yourself alone in your room a few times, arms outstretched around a ghost, pretending someone else’s hands were on your waist, someone else’s eyes boring into yours.
Or maybe you fell temporarily in love with strangers on public transportation, fell in love with anybody who so much as accidentally brushed your hand on the way past. For you, falling in love with dozens of people a day was a coping mechanism for not having anyone to love you in return. But people are not eggs and falling in love with a dozen of them does not mean your shell will remain uncracked. One day you’re going to hit the point where you’re so desperate for human contact that you’re going to snap in half and all your love will bleed out like egg yolk.
But someone out there is eating a bowl of Ramen noodles right now, or putting on slippers, or settling into bed. They are doing all the normal things that you’ve done in your own life. They are just like you. They have cellulite and extra fat in all the wrong places and goals and fears and doubts and bad handwriting.
The truth is that they are just like you, and being just like you, they’re looking for a lover too. They’re what you might call a soulmate.
They think they’re all alone in feeling the way they do, but you’re really both two halves of a whole.
And one day you’ll meet them, bump into them on the street, and your two halves will be put together, and you’ll make one.
I cried a little bit when I read this. Especially this section:
"The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen."
My brother just said that complaining on Valentine’s Day because you’re single is kind of like complaining on someone else’s Birthday because it isn’t your Birthday, and he’s kind of right.
So, my Mom and Ben just had a long discussion about how they think that saying "leftsharked" should become a thing. Like, a phrase that is synonymous with the concept of crapping things up, i.e,
"How was the test, man?"
"I don't know, I think I leftsharked it," or
"I brought Jimmy in to do a job and he completely leftsharked it! Now I have to clean up his mess."
And so on.
I think it's beautiful. I'm going to say it every day.
A poem I've just written:
I'm making a ring sling
But you don't know what that is, do you?
It's a baby carrier
Something that keeps a baby close to you
So that she can hear your sound, inhale your fragrance, and feel your warmth
While you have your hands free
To work, to play, to dream.
At the fabric market,
I ran my hands over cotton, over silk, over muslin
Until I found it:
Shimmery, turquoise, and comforting
With the potential to become a force-field
Enveloping child and caregiver, shielding them from the negativity and hate of the outside
A constant whisper of, "We are here for each other, no matter what."
The subtle glint makes me picture balls and weddings,
Meeting of international importance and awards receptions,
All with a baby in tow.
We are together always,
Loving one another and sharing love with all
Caring for each other and bettering the world
It reminded me of those gorgeous slings I enviously oggle online,
Dreaming of one day owning one, of carefully caressing my child
Within the folds of gently sparkling fabric.
But, the future is now,
And so I sew, and picture a day
When I will wear my child,
When I will use my sling, and look back and fondly recall
The girl who carefully created
And imagined the future.
Today, a little girl at daycare came in crying. I asked her Dad what was wrong, and he said that she was upset, because she asked him to play 'Uptown Funk" in the car, and he said no.
I get it, girlfriend. That's the jam.
My Mom just said "hashtag trashbag" apropos of nothing, and I cannot stop laughing.
It sounds like the name of a TV show about thirteen year olds who post on Instagram too much. Picture it with me:
"Ugh! This selfie seriously sucks. #Trashbag, am I right?"
Yeah, I would watch that.
I loved this ride when I was small. When this picture came up on my dash, it absolutely made my day. I'm not sure if I even noticed the skeletons, I was so excited that there was a picture of this ride.
Thanks for keeping it real, Grunkle Stan.
This is my favourite thing ever.
Speaking of Australia...
This is lovely
Like, let's be honest
This is always good to know
Asking the real questions
I love Tyler (part one)
I love Tyler (part two)
I had to explain this joke to my brother, who has somehow never heard the Macklemore song. C'mon, Ben. Get with the times.
In other news, this song makes me cry.
New reaction GIF
This Twitter is everything. I am DYING
This means so much to me
Turns out I'm the cake girl
This amuses me
I legit bought Ben that THawk thing for Christmas
Asking the real questions
I adore this
Thanks for sticking with me for another months.
We are steadily making it through. Everything is going to be all right.