Anyway, this is how everything turned out.

After obsessively checking for views re-reading old blog entries last week, I came to realize that a lot happened during my unplanned anxiety hiatus that I probably would have told you about if I hadn’t been so busy lying on my couch watching TV shows about people with botched plastic surgery. So before I jump right back in with well-spun tales of my exotic life (TODAY I FOUND A CUP FILLED WITH MILK SO SPOILED THAT IT HAD BASICALLY BECOME SENTIENT CHEESE), I thought I’d take a moment to catch you up on a few things.

  • After months of complaining about it, we finally did something about the lack of tumbleweeds of fur against our baseboards and got ourselves a dog. Her name is Penny and her hobbies include eating and subsequently pooping out socks, cat wrestling, and aggro-snuggling.

    Penny Coco

    Okay, so this is not exactly the best picture of her? But I feel it is an accurate representation of her daily life, and also a tender depiction of cross-species love.

  • In the time it took me to scrape myself back together, Addie finished kindergarten and first grade, and this year will be submitting her thesis on the rise of the novel in 18th century literature (I think that’s what you do in the second grade, right?). She is also still a Girl Scout, and has even camped out overnight, while I still have a panic attack every time I have to turn on the iron.

    Rosie, meanwhile, has not aged at all, nor hit any major milestones other than becoming super obsessed with the concept of growing boobies, so she’s got a lot going on right now, too.

    Rosie Bbs

    Rosie has been freeing the nipple since before freeing the nipple was cool.

  • Spoiler alert – I never lost any weight, and I forgot all the Spanish I learned, and my skin is worse than ever, but I did finally break down and start getting my hair professionally colored, so at least now I look like a complete mess with highlights.

    Stupid Arty Selfie

    This is supposed to be a super art-y selfie? But honestly I just sort of look like an elderly relative is talking to me about the importance of flood insurance. There is an alternate version with my mouth slightly ajar, like you see sexy ladies doing on Instagram, but on me it’s less flirty and more mentally unhinged.

  • Wow, okay, is this really all that has happened to me in the course of like 16 months? I really thought there would be more than this. I was counting on a whole big list of like awesome accomplishments and shit, but I cannot think of a single other thing. BASICALLY TWO BABIES COULD HAVE BEEN BORN IN THIS TIME AND ALL I DID WAS GET A DOG AND WATCH MY KID PROGRESS NATURALLY THROUGH GRADE LEVELS OH MY GOD ADULTHOOD IS A DEATH TRAP.
  • The other night I had a dream that I was riding the bus with President Obama, and he had full sleeve tattoos on both forearms, and one of the forearms just said OBAMA in really big ornate letters, and I was like, wow, one would not have guessed that he had these sleeve tattoos.
  • Oh! I went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter! That’s a thing that is definitely cool that you probably didn’t get to do! So there! I’m still relevant!

Okay, so it turns out that you basically missed nothing. Now that we’re all caught up, I can move on to all of my latest and greatest exploits.  For the rest of 2017, it’s nothing but life-changing middle-aged-lady magic! I’m gonna climb some stuff! Maybe symbolically…burn something, I don’t know. I’m gonna impress the shit out of you with all my amazing life events!

I’m gonna start with some sleeve tattoos. Or maybe a nap.

Scout’s Honor

Addie came home from school recently and announced that she would be joining the Girl Scouts. There was really no discussion– she had seen her friends in their uniforms and sashes, and was driven mad with jealousy. This isn’t the first time she’s come home from school announcing her intent to join an organization– there was a brief but torturous two-week period in which she was officially a member of the elementary school wrestling team– but it’s the first time I have seriously entertained the notion of her joining a club, mainly because this one doesn’t end with her getting cauliflower ear.

This is uncharted territory for me, as I myself was never a Girl Scout. Or, that is to say, I was one for exactly one day. The Day of the Sit-Upon.

I’m not really sure where I got the idea that I would enjoy joining a group that combined salesmanship and outdoorsy-ness, two things I hated more than almost anything. Maybe it was just the pressure to fit in with all the other girls in my class, or maybe I did it because an American Girl doll catalog told me to (I took a lot of life advice from the American Girl doll catalog, like always being myself and wearing a crown of ivy with flaming candles sticking out of it).


Seems legit

But for whatever reason, I begged my mom to let me join the Brownies, and, thrilled that I was actually opting to do something even remotely normal, she happily obliged.

When I got there, the room was already full of girls, most of whom I knew from school. They all looked so cool in their Brownie uniforms, like they were badass bitches who got things done and had the patches to prove it. I can do this, I thought to myself, already planning on which patch I would go for first (I hoped they had one for Endlessly Throwing a Pink Rubber Ball at a Brick Wall For Hours, because I already had that in the bag).

But then the troop leader announced that we would be going on a camp out in a few weeks, and because I was an expert at controlling my emotions, I immediately burst into tears. I had known there was an outdoor component to this, but I was hoping I’d be able to skirt it somehow, like maybe I could always be the one who stayed behind and guarded the patch closet against marauders while everyone else went outside and got covered in bugs and mud. And now this woman wanted me to camp out? Overnight? Away from my parents? Outside? Whoa, whoa, lady. I didn’t realize I had signed up for Army Ranger training.

Trying her hardest to ignore my barking walrus sobs, the troop leader raised her voice and explained that we would all be making sit-upons for the camping trip. In case you’re unfamiliar with this graceful piece of outdoor furniture, a sit-upon is a piece of vinyl fabric stuffed with packing peanuts and sewn shut. When fully assembled, one can sit upon it, keeping one’s butt marginally elevated from the ground. Out of pity, she gave me the materials needed to create a sit-upon, as well, even though I’m sure she knew it would never be sat upon.

Unaware, at the tender age of eight, that I was allowed to simply get up and leave situations that were unpleasant or uncomfortable, possibly flipping a table or two on my way out the door, I soldiered on and made my sit-upon, which for some reason I remember in great detail– it was neon orange, with thick twine holding it shut, and I wrote my name on it in black permanent marker. As soon as I was able, I booked it out of there and never returned.

For some reason, though, I held on to my sit-upon for far longer than was necessary. It’s lost to the ages now, but I distinctly remember still having it in high school, where it lived in my closet, awaiting the day I could finally man up and get my Outdoor Camping patch. Considering I couldn’t even attend band camp without displaying histrionics usually only seen in families torn apart by war, I am sad to say that my sit-upon went un-sat-upon for the duration of its sad life.

I hope Addie will fare a little bit better than me. At the age of five, she has already camped out more times than I have in my entire life (once), and is generally much more brave and badass than I could ever hope to be. But when it comes time to make that sit-upon, I’ll be ready to help. Through my instinctive, terrified tears.