The Audience of 1000

The cherry on top of the day after the last day of the second shittiest week of 2014 was a Brazilian wax –

That’s how I celebrated that my personal hell was over – With a woman with blue bangs whom I’d never met before plucking every strand of hair from my body parts – 

I also FINALLY PLAYED – and removed the “under” from “underfunned” by hanging out with all my favorite boys and my two best girls.

The first shittiest week of 2014 occurred last January in Hawaii – which was tainted with such enormous negativity that I wanted to hurl myself into the ocean with the hope that it would swallow me whole…

…and then spit me out, so I could come back as a mermaid. #splash

This last week, the shittiness was all on me and my body, the perfect storm of emotional triggers, demonic possession, and 1000 pain receptors going haywire all at once, and all surrounding a holiday and birthdays…

Basically, this period felt like Quentin Tarantino directed it

#tmi #fml

I always forget how much I dislike those…periods, holidays and birthdays…This year, it was a trifecta.

…every year, however, holidays and birthdays trick me – They say, “This is your year – THE year that you’ll discover why people love holidays and birthdays so much.”


Nothing says bah-humbug quite like a nomadic single – and nothing feels quite as tribeless as a girl with a new tribe who all have other families. Big fat bummer.

I also made a couple of catastrophic mistakes.

I’m not sure why I continue to fuck up so royally. It would be really helpful if I stopped.

Here’s a secret: When the red devil is possessing my body, I do have satanic dreams…

aether possession

Dreams nightmares about what it would be like to have a “traditional” life where I “fit in” – have a “traditional” mom/daughter relationship with my girls, get a REAL job (whatever THAT means), and have a “boyfriend” –

…and that maybe I should be doing THAT with my life instead of remaining somewhat tribeless and bucking the system….

…while I lead this revolution against the suburban zombie apocalypse like I’m Joan Of Arc or Katniss Everdeen.

When did I volunteer as Tribute? Who signed me up to be the Mocking Jay?

But I wouldn’t even know what to do with that if I had that – What if I had a “traditional” life with a traditional “boyfriend”  – with all the labels that accompany that: leashes, dog tags, obligations…

Do I just kiss him and then leave him alone in the corner?
How often does it eat???

The week began like this: I was leaving my final client’s appointment after 11 hours of work at that point which was 6 p.m. – and I could feel exhaustion and desperation setting in –

Earlier in the day, I had noted that I was overworked and underfunned –

That is not the best space for me to be invading.

…and I could hear the ocean taunting me. Keep in mind, I live in Arizona.

I was thinking, “I need a vacation – I need a break before I break.”

…so I entered the week with a frame of mind, body, and spirit of uncontrollable burnout.

Second, Captain Amazing and I had been brainstorming about a project I’m pretty excited about. It could be enormously profitable and fun – and I want stacks of cash in my bank account – and funness.

He was describing a position – and how being in that position would maximize certain pleasure centers, and he would then demonstrate how eye contact could be made, creating and keeping “connection.”

I realized, silently in my head, “Hmmm…I don’t do that…”

…and then I got a little bit sad. I’ve only opened my eyes and made that connection with one person.

*Note, that one connection was not with the man I was married to –  probably one of the 1000 reasons I’m not. 

I have had sporadic attempts to open my eyes in the last few months … usually while he explores my juicy little peach

…all while telling myself this lie – that I keep my eyes closed so that I can feel more…

The truth is, I feel less – 

“That is the point,” said the commitmentphobe in the front row.

So after his comment, I had a little chat with myself and said, “Self – put your big girl panties on and open your fucking eyes. Keep them open.”

Of course, I think I’m invincible and that I can handle it. #wonderwoman

I thought, “I could dive in, just a bit.”

I was so wrong. I did complete the task successfully – in action – I kept my eyes open the whole time, but the results were less than favorable.

I was shaking, crying, nauseous, and my chest hurt.

The entire next day, I was overcome with waves of indescribable feelings, sheer panic, shortness of breath, uncontrollable shaking, nausea, and debilitating pain – with a red hot ball of lead just under my belly button…

…and my uterus cried – not just gentle tears, but convulsive sobs.

Thank you, Quentin Tarantino..

I don’t know how “girls” do this – all this feelings crap – I really don’t.

So I was in bed by 8 p.m. on my birthday (Wednesday) because of the pain and feeling like a bewildered nothing

 Reminder: If I know what I bring to the table, it’s okay to eat alone.

Sure I now have an audience of over 1000 on Twitter and on Facebook; I got about 200 birthday notes on Facebook and about 20 texts wishing me a happy birthday…but I was missing the only one that really I wanted.

The first phone call I received was by a gorgeous man who left an an awesome message, took me out for lunch, called me later, emailed me, and texted me.

I still felt like a nothing?why?

…a nothing with a whole lotta pain and mystifying disappointment…and then a bit anger??

I was truly pisstified.


After I had gone to bed at 8, Youngest came in to gently awaken me and tell me that I had received a text – and that ironically it had nothing to do with my birthday.

I very groggily said, “Set the phone down.”

And then another text came in. She said, “Oh here’s another birthday text.”

I went back to sleep…until Youngest and Middlest were goofing around, and I heard a crash and a blood-curdling scream.

I jumped out of bed and went to the girls faster than Superman…I don’t know how I did it – I had probably been bitten by a bit Kryptonite.

I lifted the drawers that had fallen, moved Youngest to the bed while Middlest got ice…I put the ice on her back – Youngest was fine.

However, I was doubled over in severe pain and thought I was going to pass out or vomit or both.

I made a mad dash to the bathroom with the speed of a 90-year-old crippled sloth, and realized that I had injured my knee in the giant leap from my bed to the other room.


I hobbled back to bed, texted a reply, and we all tucked in for the night.

Then the girls and I began the teenage delirious overtired giggle-fest…and I remembered that the night before, Youngest had punched me in the boob while we were sleeping.

I told her this – I said, “It didn’t feel like an elbow as you were rolling over – It felt like you sat up and punched me with your fist. IT HURT SO BAD.”

She replied, “Like this?” and sat up on her knees, both fists above her head and yelled, “FOR NARNIA,” and then motioned as if she was stabbing me in the chest.

We died laughing.

It’s a thing now.

The good news is, I didn’t get a mix CD for my birthday this year that crushes my soul every time I hear it.

Bad news, I didn’t get an orgasm either….the one thing I actually wanted for my birthday –

I hope there is a raincheck floating around out there!

Stupid body – Stupid everything else!

I hate doors!!

So the next day was Thanksgiving…and I had trouble making a gratitude list. The pain was so bad and I was holding back tears.

I received a “Happy Thanksgiving” text, to which I replied, “Bah humbug. I should have had you get me drugs in Mexico. FML.”

“What’s FML?” he asked.

“Fuck my life,” I replied.

He texted back, “??? You ok?”

I spent 30 minutes typing a response, deleting it, retyping it, and deleting it, until finally I said, “Apparently not, since it took about 30 minutes to come up with a reply. Is it too early to drink? Can I borrow a cigarette?”

He called me and we talked a bit. I felt sick.

Middlest and I decided to go to the gym anyway. I just loaded myself up on pain meds so that I could push myself through this hell.

I had been taking 4 Advil per dose plus “the other stuff” so I could numb myself enough to rejoin the ranks of unicorn status so I could run again…

…run like a vampire from 1000 burning suns…

I liked the “other stuff.” I was afraid it would make me queasy or hallucinate, but it didn’t make me sick until it wore off –

…and then the pain became more than I could bear – and the hallucinations kicked in, and I thought I could successfully sext anyone on Twitter.

And then the pain and anger transformed into white hot RAGE.


So I decided to rage quit. #ragequit

I had a white hot rage workout Saturday in which I beat the shit out of the basketball court with a 12-pound medicine ball –

I swear officer, I only emptied the clip in the interest of thoroughness.

I also FINALLY felt like I needed to talk to someone – but who?

I needed honest objectivity, and no woman was really going to give me that. They were going to side with the irrational hormones that were running amok, and I didn’t want to hear that.

…nor did I want to be subjected to 1000 rounds of male bashing…when I knew the answer was all within me.

Women do not understand the non-emotional workings of logic, and THAT makes me crazy. I cannot rely upon the vast majority of women to be my “go-to” anyones for any kind of advice on any subject matter at all.

…talk about feeling like a tribeless nothing…

I still needed to talk. I hadn’t spoken about the true source of my pain, except for how I hurt my knee.

…so I turned toward my teens – who are, in fact, my most objective and honest “peers” and understand how my mind works.

Middlest said, “Mom, you’re acting like a teenage girl, PLUS you have raging hormones.”

I said, “I know – and I’m not a girl!”

She said, “I know you’re not, so stop it.”


She gave my emptiness a name.

Closeness shouldn’t lead to disappointment, overwhelm, and excruciating pain that requires prescription pain medication – It was the demon hormones.

Sunday arrived- FINALLY – The red devil had finally been exorcised through my excessive exercising – my Brazilian was on the books, along with another lunch meeting –

…and I received an unexpected delight – a good morning with an invitation to breakfast.


Awesome! Life was back to normal.

Breakfast was fun – except I didn’t have much of an appetite – The highlight was the “sausage incident,” which scarred my girls-

I’ve never laughed quite so hard having a sausage forcefully shoved into my mouth like that – repeatedly…

…then again, boys will be boys…

I used that situation as a teaching opportunity for Middlest – I told her they all do that. She said, “Mommy NO.”

I said, “Who else is going to be straight up and honest about what to expect?”

She said, “Good point.”

On the way to school to school today, we talked philosophically about hugging messy kids with food and dirt all over their faces.

I explained that it’s better to learn to be messy when you’re a kid – because you have to learn it at some point in your life – It might as well be when someone can help you clean up.

It’s like learning to fall down, like falling from a bike…you have to learn it and you will – It’s better learn when you’re small – It doesn’t hurt as much, and it’s easier to get up.

Then they said together, “Mom, we need to have an intervention.”

“Why,” I asked.

Middlest said, “Because you have feelings.

I said, “No I don’t.”

Youngest said, “We’ve been meaning to talk to you. You were mushy yesterday.”

I said, rather defensively, “I was NOT. I didn’t do anything remotely mushy.”

Then they made fun of me saying how cute HLB (Happiest Little Boy) is.

I said, “Well he is!”

Now I really have to rage quit!!

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