Times They are a Changin’

With the changing leaves and colder breeze, I recently had an idea.

I want more voices on this here blog.

If I had a sign it would say, “CALLING ALL SINGLETONS AND MORE!” Male, or female. Old, or young. Games of Thrones fan, or not. I’m looking for some new guest bloggers to hang out and talk about the nitty gritty relationship stuff. Whether you are single OR in a relationship, I want you!

Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking to you married folk, too.

Fill out this form and tell me a little bit about yourself and I’ll check ya out and see if you would fit. You could be a reocurring guest blogger, or a one-hit wonder. It’s up to you! I just know the world wants to hear your story, and this is a safe place to tell it.

This blog is about relationships, and it’s mission is to make people with broken hearts feel less lonely — women feel less insane about having emotions — and men feel less baffled by lady emotions. The goal is simple: let’s talk about the complexity of relationships and lurv. Clearly, there is a lot to talk about, and neverending stories to tell.

Daughter Dear

I once listened to a story on This American Life about a mother who was dying of cancer and wrote her daughter a letter for every birthday. WARNING: If you listen to it make sure you are not on a run like I was…sobbing and snotting yourself as you try and trot is not easy. She wrote the letters so even after she passed she could stay in her daugther’s life and offer her wisdom and encouragement. However, it actually turned out to be a crutch and a very painful thing in the daughter’s life, but the mother had the best of intentions. Don’t they all.

It got me to thinking, though. What if I wrote a letter to my daughter. As a 25 year old, what would I say? What would I want her to know? Would I actually give it to her one of these days?

I actually don’t plan on having kids until I’m 32-ish. I want to see how this letter holds up. Would I change anything? Would I still want her to read it one day? So here I go, a letter to my theoretical girl who will (one day, all too soon) turn into a woman.

Maybe I will give it to her. Perhaps I won’t. Stick with me, and you shall find out 😉 Like 7 years from now… OK, here we go.  Continue reading

BOO CANCER.

In my last post I left you guys hanging with cancer thoughts and flea infestations. And by you guys, I mean the three people who stumble upon this blog because they Google “Kate Winslet naked,” and this comes up. Welcome, friends!

I apologize for my leave of absence, but here I am now giving you the fun news.

So my mom was officially diagnosed with COLON CANCER. Continue reading

Clean sheets and shaved legs

Is there anything truly greater than clean sheets and shaved legs? By themselves they are equally awesome, but the combo…wowzer.

I wash my sheets once a week because I live for this feeling. I also get grossed out thinking about what’s growing in the foot of my bed. I’ve seen shows about those critters, and ew. Especially if you are doing it in your bed and not washing your sheets regularly, double ew. Maybe I’m neurotic but I think about this if I’m getting my sexy time on…the thought squeezes itself in there, “Are my sheets clean-ish?” Can we say mood killer?

This weekend I washed my sheets AND shaved my legs. I crawled into bed after a long weekend and it was like peacefulness washed over me as I took a big whiff of the soapy leftover smell of crispy cleanliness–all was right in the world (if only between my sheets). It was so overwhelmingly wonderful I started to think about all the small things we take for granted. It’s a popular (ahem, cliche) topic, I know…but I want to start calling those things out and saying, “HEY! You! Thing I take for granted…I love you…”

Let’s all vow to be grateful more often.

Tell me! What are your clean sheets and shaved legs equivalents?

Happy Spot #4: and then there was this guy

The sickness has been going around. It leaves no stone unturned, no head unclogged. It’s a real doozy and for some reason I’m still not over it, but almost there. In the throws of awfulness I left work early last week and came home to a made bed (my ultimate favorite) and this…

sweet photo

a pillow note from Mr. M.

I’m tellin’ ya…ladies love notes! Random notes of affection and appreciation go further than you would think.

It wasn’t all pillow talk during my week of a compromised immune system. Mr. M and I had to have a real heart to heart about how I need someone to take care of me when I’m sick. Normally I’m all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar, but when I’m sick–all caution is thrown to the wind and I become a big baby. Just scoop me up because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. It was a good opportunity for him to learn something about me. He felt bad after not living up to my previously un-relayed expectations and came home the other day and said he had been thinking. He decided that writing a manifesto to protest his desire and commitment to taking care of me was in order.

The L-word crept into my mind as he mentioned the manifesto. Who are you? Why do I get to keep you? After 2010, the year of heartache and angst, it’s really unbelievable that I made it out alive and then there was this guy.

Mr. M. Nobody is perfect. But I wasn’t looking for perfect anyways. I was looking for this guy.

Thanks Universe,

25swf