Awesomeness. In its most Pure Form.

Okay, I don't advertise on here. But I am tonight.

I like good theatre. I like seeing people succeed at their dreams. But sometimes, everyone needs a little boost. My good friend Aaron is trying to get funding to start up his first live theatre production (college excluded). He has 20 hours to go and needs less than $1,200 to meet his fundraising goal and lock in the space for his show.

You don't need to like live theatre. But if you've ever had dream, you know sometimes everyone needs a hand getting their's started. Every dollar counts. I will make up for this egregious breach of blog etiquette with Egg McMuffins.

Enough Egg McMuffins to feed a village. Just click on the link below. If you are broke as a joke, you can donate as little as $1. It will still help.

It's like Six Degrees From Kevin Bacon, but with Talent.

YOU SCROLLED TOO FAR!! ^^THAT IS THE LINK!^^

Sugar Buzz

We gave The Offspring too much juice. Or maybe he was just feeling awesome. I don't remember. It was at least 24 hours ago.

I am submitting this video as evidence for the following hypothesis: Nothing runs "cuter" than a toddler. Really. Watch their arms when they run- they stick out in this weird way, because the kid KNOWS the likelihood of falling is large. And they kind of bounce and wobble, like a bobble-head on a boat. It's so cute they made the Muppets run like that. Puppies try to run this cutely. They make a good effort with their way-too-big ears, but they fail, because their head isn't its own center of gravity.

Your Costume Party Is Giving Me an Identity Crisis

I need to say, before I go any further, that I have the BEST friends in the world. They let me go months without seeing them and still invite me to their birthday parties without ever calling me out on my social-lameness.

So an old friend (hereby referred to as Freckled Goddess) invited me to her birthday party- which is tonight! I'm so excited! People! And a goat! Whooopee!

Wait. The Freckled Goddess updated the Facebook event? Probably no big deal, right?

WRONG. The Freckled Goddess created hell. Right here. Because she made it a costume party based on "What you wanted to be when you grew up".  Crap.

It wouldn't have mattered if I had paid attention when she updated the event on Facebook a month ago.  I thought and thought and thought and COULD NOT, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, recall what I wanted to be when I grew up. I really don't know. I thought my brother was super-cool, but that's not a career goal as much as it is an envy of being allowed to wear pants to church and the super-natural ability to scare away monsters at bedtime.

Did I not have any goals as a child? What's wrong with me? I didn't want to be a doctor or a nurse or a teacher or a firefighter. I didn't even have the awesomeness to want to be a hip-hop ballerina! Why didn't I think of that?

I told myself- don't panic. You can just make something up and no-one will know. But I didn't believe myself. The scene in my head was dramatic: I come to the Freckled Goddess's party dressed as a librarian (which, in retrospect, would have been a really good career for me). Everyone who ever saw me get yelled at for being too loud and weird sends me laser-beams of eyeball scorn. The Freckled Goddess comes up and says "No Goat for YOU! This is not even mediocre effort. Go home!"

Really, this is how I imagine social interactions in my head. I wish I was kidding. Please don't be sad for me, I'm not looking for pity, because afterwards, when it doesn't happen like that, I not only get more happiness than I was anticipating but also the added benefit of having a good-natured laugh at myself.

I think I could also consider making awesome
masks as an alternate career path,
but I'm starting so worry about my lack of focus here.

So I thought, okay, sarcasm has always won the day for me. I've always wanted a really cool mask. What if I made a mask, and said "When I was little, I always wanted to be a person with an awesome mask." Then, not only would I have a costume to wear, but I would have a cool mask.

I didn't have a mask, though, so I skipped dinner, went to Hobby Lobby, and bought a whole mess of crafty stuff. Glitter, feathers, a mask. I went home, put The Offspring to bed, and ignored the eye-rolling of The Husband. I was on a mission. And I succeeded! I got a little hot glue on the carpet, but all in all it is a super cool mask. I'm pretty proud of this effort, and I think it exceeds the minimum requirement of mediocrity set by the Freckled Goddess. I put the mask on the shelf and went to bed feeling very satisfied with myself.

I woke up at three o'clock in the morning. I was worrying that people would not believe my excuse for wearing a mask. Maybe I should consider getting help.

So I will not be wearing my mask tonight (but I will put up pictures tomorrow, because I need the world to see its awesomeness). Instead you will have to bear witness to my pun-tastic sense of humor. I will show you, you will see. You may even believe that I had a career goal as a child, and let me have some goat. Unless you're even cooler than I think you are, and you read this blog.

I have full faith in your ability to tell what I am. If you can figure out  WHICH one I am. Because my costume is so awesome it is a COMPLETE disguise.

I'm Attempting to Finally Answer a STRANGE Question

The reason this question is strange is that it's an implied question. Sometimes, if I forget none of my high school friends have kids yet, I talk about my son around them a lot. This is not because there is nothing else to talk about or I think he's all that interesting to people who don't know him. It's just because he's the majority of my social life. It's a very one-sided social life that reminds me of middle school, when even my one and only best friend felt it necessary to remind me that corduroys will never be cool.

Anyone who knows why this picture is sideways and helps me fix it wins half the Powerball jackpot I am destined to win and use to fund my dream of staying home and writing all day even if no one thinks I'm any good.

Anyways, when I go off on these tangents, they are inevitably cut off with a remark to the effect of "Wow, aren't you supposed to be selling me on the whole procreating thing?" (and here I thought I was telling you something FUNNY!), and this look like you want me to tell you to get to making babies right now so you can valiantly defend not having any.

There's two reasons I never do that. One: I'm not a sales person. I've tried it a few times and I'm just not good at it, so I am certainly not going to suck at something for free. I don't like being bad at things, it brings me great misery, and I feel no one should suffer in vain. Two: You want me to wear down and eventually to tell you that I made a mistake, or that I should have waited, or that your life is so much more fun and cool than mine, or say things that would make my son really sad to hear if he were old enough to understand. I'm not gonna do it. I'm not even going to apologize for not doing it.

Lets address a few of those things you want me to say from reason number two.

I didn't make a mistake. I barely made a decision. The second you see your baby on the ultrasound you become a mom, and it's not really a decision any more. The Offspring did lots of good things, like make me barf every time I smoked until I finally gave up on the whole thing. Mistakes don't usually change your life for the better like that.

What should I have waited for? I'm asking you that, because I don't get it. I want to be young enough to enjoy life when the nest is empty.

Your life looks fun and cool on Facebook, but I did that. My body doesn't tolerate it well, and I hated dating. I really hated dating. Being married is cool. It's a license to be yourself all the time. I went four months straight this winter without shaving my legs, and felt not one iota of shame. I also save lots of money on clothes, because I don't have to impress potential boyfriends. And don't get me started on the weird cosmetic things that some single ladies I know do. Here's my advice on the whole "Brazilian" front: do unto others... Get my point? It should always be an even trade, or it is SO not worth it.

And even if I did have regrets, I'd never say them out loud. So stop fishing for them, and making posts about how the whole world is judging you for not procreating, and complaining about everyone posting pictures of their kids all over the place and telling you everything about everything their kid does. Because you do the same thing with pictures of you at the bar and tales of your hangover, and with your super-overcompensating statements about how smug you think pregnant women are. And no one worth knowing is judging you for waiting, or not having kids, or for having seven kids right in a row.

See? This one is normal. If someone doesn't help me I may have to go back to floral design, and as you can see my talents there are pretty limited. But I don't want to be that, so it's not the life I built.

I love you. Please don't hate me for not saying your life is awesomer than mine. It's just that everyone's life is perfect for them, because we create our own realities. We build the life that is best suited to what we want (or need). So my life rocks for me, but that doesn't mean it rocks less than yours, and visa-verse. Even when parts of my life are difficult and enraging, I wouldn't trade it away, because it's the best version of what I want that I know how to create.

Stay tuned: I plan to attempt salesmanship about being a parent, to convince you that even though I look like a kangaroo in skinny jeans my life is actually fun in really weird silly ways.

Dear Mormon Missionaries:

Image Source: mormonbeliefs.org

Dear Mormon Missionaries,

I miss you. Why have you forsaken me? I used to get some love from young Mormon men at least once a year. And it was very brotherly love, so you can't accuse me of that!

The first missionary I encountered in college was so very persistent he even agreed to an awful trade. He would read "The Spiral Dance" by Starhawk if I would read "The Book of Mormon". If he had asked, I may have told him I'd already read it (having grown up with Mormon friends), but he didn't and I wanted a more spirited debate. NOT MY FAULT.

In Grand Junction, I learned that Mormons won't enter my home without The Husband being there. I was nice enough to point out that it's hardly polite to question someone's ethics to such a degree when you're trying to convert them- to no avail. They made me sit outside and smoke while debating them. Those ones thought they might make more headway if they spoke to The Husband instead (since I was clearly only in it for a good conversation), and he told them something less polite than I did. NOT MY FAULT.

Then, today, as I was taking a walk with The Offspring and The Husband, I saw two Mormons headed my way. It's been so long since I've had a good Mormon visitor! I was practically jumping with joy when they approached us! But what did they do? Ask if I knew anyone who wanted to receive the Good News, and decline to encroach on our walk! My sad face did not dissuade them.

Mormons, I agree with almost nothing you say, but I was raised in an evangelical home so I am a perfect training person for your new missionary. I know how to debate weird things like Utah-voodoo, and I really like doing it! I enjoy it so much I don't even take it personally that you think I am less of a human than you by virtue of having a uterus, or that you think The Husband ought to keep me in line better. Please forgive me for offering refreshments and extra-curricular reading to your missionaries. I only meant to return the favor they sought to offer me.

Best Regards,

Dirty Heathen.