pictorial thoughts pre-mother’s day.



Sometimes I text myself reminders so I don’t forget. I forget so easily these days; too much stuff is inside my brain. The other day I went in to text myself another reminder and found THAT, the above. The Shelly part is me – I owe my hair stylist $33 next time I see her (it may look like this is some kind of hair mafia loan, but it isn’t – she’s amazingly talented and a good friend who lets me pay in full or partial and pay her back with no interest). I promise I would not text myself that I’m funny or that my legs need to be on video. That’s the kind of stuff that comes out of a 7 year old’s brain. A seven year old who needs some acting lessons and some head shots so she can be the famous diva she truly is (and make me a million bucks a year in film/tv/commercial residuals – I say children should be put to work; I am all for child labor. They ought to help pay their way through childhood, since they’re constantly claiming they need all these toys and those treats and sparkly clothes from Justice and stuff).


I saw this on Twitter the other day, and I high fived it (aka retweeted it). (Why do some people, in their twitter bios, put that retweets don’t mean endorsement? If you’re retweeting something, obviously you like it or don’t put it on your page. I’ve retweeted stuff, had second thoughts, and un-retweeted it because I don’t want that on my page after all. I think that’s a silly thing to say – like here, if I don’t want my co-workers to see it, I don’t write it. A lot of co-workers and former co-workers occasionally read this stuff, and so I only re-tweet and write things I’m okay with co-workers seeing. Some of it might be awkward, but then those co-workers and I probably just need to go out for drinks. Once you go out for drinks with someone, you’ll instantly understand them. I feel.)

The reason I retweeted it is because I once had a man tell me that I’m not really attractive to men right now because I’m too angry. That men really only want women who are happy and positive and fun. Which, ha, is so funny to me. Because first of all, the man who said it to me was in no position himself to deem anyone else worthy of a relationship. And because second of all, when I met C I was pretty angry (different anger, different decade) and when he read my online profile (this was back in the day, when yahoo dating profiles were free and most people still met each other in bars and not on social media but not me and C…me and C were cutting edge) he thought I sounded like a woman who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. Oh, bless C’s dear heart for taking that on. Bless him. He eventually figured out that my online profile was actually just angry, and he kept me anyway.

Here are my thoughts about men who don’t find angry women attractive: you can’t handle real women. The End. (okay, epilogue: you probably can’t handle real men either.)

I mean, listen. I like men, I like men a lot. What I don’t like are men who think of women in terms of black and white. Like, a good woman “should be”…insert your insecure, egoic male need here. We all have baggage, we have all hurt each other. Some of it has been such bad hurt that some of our baggage is quite angry now. If what you’re looking for is someone who’s kittens and rainbows and unicorns and happy happy joy joy all the time, then you’re not looking for a real relationship; you’re looking for a fairy tale. And if you’re looking for a fairy tale princess, you better make damn sure you’re Prince Charming, flawless and everything, and you better have a Disney World castle ready for your fairy tale princess to live in. With your rainbows and unicorns and cute little kittens.

I think that’s why I high fived/retweeted that tweet. Men who want to define what deems a woman worthy of a man’s affections? No thanks.


I have been blessed with really good people in my life, who love me when I’m angry, sad, or happy. I saw a different quote the other day about how time decides who you meet, your heart decides who you keep, and  behavior decides who stays. I’m finding this to be pretty true.

I’ll add that then some people just become family forever no matter what. I have been blessed with the Universe bringing me mostly people who are capable of expansive love, who don’t look at other human beings as objects to be compartmentalized into boxes – they see whole human beings, and they’re the kind of people who are open-minded enough to know Life and its people are shades of grey, not stark black or sterile white. This is includes C, his family, my family, and a very very good handful of dear friends I’ve been blessed with. People who are not rigid in their assessment of situations, who accept people as is and love them anyway, even when they don’t fully understand the why’s or the how’s. In the instances I have been brought people who are not like this, I am learning they are lessons for me. That non-judgmental, expansive love is why I’m supposed to be here and those people are my lessons and my formative assessments.


You know who was the friendliest character we met at Disney World? Eeyore. He wasn’t depressed in person at all, in fact he was actually quite bubbly and love-y. Of all the characters we met at Disney World, I loved sad, droopy Eeyore the best. Maybe he kept giving me hugs at lunch because he could tell we are kindred souls. Or maybe he wanted a date. Either way, he was the lovingest and if his handlers had let me, I’d have taken him home with us. Tigger on the other hand…wow. Get some therapy, man. (I’m kidding. I love Tigger.)


Man, you guys. I still cannot believe Prince is no longer on Earth with the rest of us. He’s one of those super stars you never ever think about. You just hear his songs and go: oh yeah, that was a great song! I was XX years old when that song came out and doing this thing, I remember! And then you go on about your day. Until one day you open up social media and find out he died. And now you hear his songs and go: oh yeah, that was a great song! I was XX years old when that song came out and doing this thing, I remember, and now I’ll always feel really sad when I hear this song. 

He was a good human being. Probably not perfect, but he seemed like a good egg nonetheless. Like most normal people.


In this picture, we’d spent one whole day at Hollywood Studios. Miss M’s face paint is coming off, and my make up has been sweated off, and we’d had several emotional altercations. It was late when I took that picture and we were waiting for one of Disney’s many magical fireworks/light shows to start. We’d had a hot day of non-stop walking and standing around, we were tired, I needed a beer, and probably 2 minutes before we took that selfie Miss M said something snippy to me and I said something snippy back and then we hugged it out like we do every day about ten times a day. But we are happy to be with each other nonetheless, and know we are blessed.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I know so many moms who are defying a lot of odds, and making childhoods magical for their babies anyway. I have a good network of moms I can turn to, moms who embrace their horribleness at motherhood (the horribleness the media and alpha helicopter moms say we are) and we walk each other through it. That’s really all you can do in life, I think: find good people to surround yourself with, real people who know you through and through and like you anyway. People who won’t call you names even when you make them really mad, will hug you even when you have a nail in your anus and your face paint is all sweated off, will let you pay them back later, and will let you have the experiences you need to have so you can find the path you’re meant to walk down.

Also: I have a great mom (and stepfather! he was amazing, too) who I’ve been trying to write a thank you note to for about 3 weeks now, for giving us that experience that I feel like I need to pay it forward to somehow, but I can’t even find the words to say thank you.

Sometimes people bless you so much you can’t even find the words.