To 2014, may it be as unplanned and unpredictable as 2013

“Insert a witty, yet prophetically inspirational quote for the new year here,” ~ me

It's New Year’s Eve, I'm sitting on the couch, watching Dr. Who, drinking coffee and checking Facebook for entertainment - totally geeking it out ... with my daughter. 

We have a bottle of sparkling cider and the only two wineglasses I own sitting on the coffee table, waiting for midnight to toast the New Year.

Honestly, we might only make it until 10 p.m. Don’t judge us. And I used to have four wineglasses, but I couldn’t fit them in my car when I made the trip back to North Carolina. It’s perfect.

I’m generally not a superstitious person (astrology doesn’t really count), but they say you spend your new year how you spend your New Year’s. If a quiet night with my girl keeps me from the spontaneous onset of a mid-life crisis and trying to regain my youth through alcohol-induced bad decisions in the New Year, then I’ll take it.

Looking back over the last year ... actually, I try not to think too much about what’s already done unless it makes a great story; but those stories are tired and I’m saving them for my scandalous, tell-all memoirs that I’ve been writing for over two years.

I’ve got one chapter done. Progress!

And 2014 is just a few hours away –a new year of new resolutions for new beginnings, right?

So, I don’t even do New Year’s resolutions. I figure if it’s important, why wait? No good story EVER came out of procrastinating or planning. Well, except for maybe my memoirs – and that’s an effort in epic procrastination.

Like I said, if it were important, it would be done.

And if truth be told, they are probably not really even a little scandalous. And if I had to be even more truthful, I don’t even drink.

So, I can absolutely say that 2014 will probably be a continuation of 2013. And I don’t even have a single plan for 2014.

I’m going to wing it.

That’s pretty much been my life. No plan. But things kind of worked themselves out – with not a single, predictable moment in ... well, at least 20 years. Next year probably won’t be any different, and while there are definitely a few things I’d like to work on and to have happen, there won’t be a plan.

I’ll just try to make sure the most important things happen, like I did last year. And 2013 was a busy year.

I moved from Texas to North Carolina and wrote a blubbering – yet dramatic - blog about that experience. Two, I think. Joined a gym so that I could remind myself how much I dislike working out and wrote a blog about that. Decided that I dislike how impersonal technology has made social interaction and social networking has made everyone’s lives an open book in an effort to feel seen. I blogged about that, too.

Turned 40 – BLOGGED IT.

Wow, I blogged a lot. Maybe if I focused a bit more, I’d get at least another chapter going on that book I keep mentioning. But that sounds like a plan and I’m not about that business.

What I am about is spending more time with my daughter, maybe not being single forever, making a home, traveling, writing, painting, seeing my family and friends, taking thousands of pictures, plugging in less ... and deciding if my obsession with being fit is worth the exhaustion that’s keeping me from having the energy to function in my time off. And I’m sure I’ll blog incessantly about everything.

But as always, I’m not planning for anything other than what happens on its own – except for the not plugging in part.

So, going into the New Year, there will be no status update wishing everyone a happy one, and I won’t be sending or replying to text messages because I will probably be asleep.

Here’s to 2014 –which will hopefully be as unplanned and unpredictable as 2013. 

Confession: I wish I was born skinny so I didn't have to work out

So, confession: I dislike working out - immensely. I realized (more like, I remembered) this a few nights ago as I was lying in a puddle of my own sweat, giving myself a mental high-five because I couldn't physically move, after a particularly brutal Crossfit worko- I mean WOD. 

I'm not even good at it. Seriously, my Fran time is just under 8 minutes and while I feel like I'm thrusting an entire planet and doing perfect kipping pull-ups 21-15-9 times like a boss, what I'm actually doing is thrusting a 35 lb bar and using the yellow band on the pull-up bar (which is still hard, because I have to flail my legs to pull my fat ass up with my skinny arms so my chin makes it over the bar). And at the end of that WOD, I'm still crawling to my water bottle, leaving a wet trail of sweat, tears and pride behind me.

Not to mention my lack of grace when I'm doing Grace. 

Note that I opened with the fact that I participate in Crossfit. I make sure everyone knows I Crossfit and it kicks my ass and I do it for no other reason than the chance I’ll be in a situation where I would be required to wrestle a sabretooth cat – and win.

There is no reason for someone like me (a non-athletic person) to do Crossfit 6-7 days a week, except to find ways in which to nonchalantly assert the details of my WOD in almost every conversation and FB status update or IG photo op as if I was an 'athlete,' or to blog about it. Or to impress my kid.

Because I truly think I was meant to be a lazy person. I'd be so good at it, I just know. But, I digress. 

You might be wondering why, if I dislike working out so much, do I keep doing it? Well, maybe you’re not, but I’ll tell ya - and it has nothing to do with Crossfit and everything to do with general physical activity that I deem unnecessary. Like running. And lifting.

For starters, I dislike being out of shape more than I dislike working out. My body dysmorphic disorder prevents me from being content with my curves which are never under any kind of control. Curves are what I call my fat to make me feel better about filling or spilling out of my clothing. Plus, I can’t afford a new wardrobe and my clothes were getting smaller (read: I was getting bigger).

I’m also getting older and my metabolism hasn't worked right since puberty and the Freshman Fifty (in high school) saw my first set of angry, red stretch marks screaming across my calves, thighs and butt in protest of the fuller figure I was developing through the ingestion of an insane amount of food. I thought aliens were taking over my body, but I was just getting fat. 

And at my height, being more than a little curvy makes me look like a garden gnome in a pair of skinny jeans. Again, I digress.

I've dabbled in fitness since my early 30s and I know hard work and dedication can transform a body along with good eating habits, and I have just enough lack of motivation to not commit. My weight yo-yos with my sporadic interest and eventual disinterest followed by laziness with working out and that affects metabolism negatively. 

I was always looking for shortcuts because I didn't want to do the work - like pills, fads and eating disorders - which worked! However, the side effects that accompanied the rapid weight loss – thinning hair, loss of skin tone, bone density and muscle mass, growing hair in odd places – just weren't worth the dedication. 

What’s the point of being thin if you don’t look healthy or feel happy and could possibly die at some point? It’s counterproductive.

You can’t peacock in a coffin.

It wasn't until a few years ago, when my ex deployed, that I decided to make a real commitment to the on-again off-again relationship I had with fitness and give it the ‘old college try.’ I wanted to ‘wow’ him with a hard body upon his return.

Okay, so what had REALLY happened was, I saw cellulite had finally, in my mid-late 30s, visibly manifested itself on my thighs and I freaked the f*** out. 

Hey, a reason is a reason, right? 

As it turned out, I needn't have tried so hard to impress the ex by building a hard body. He likes thick chicks. And by thick, I mean according to his Google searches, the minimum ass size was 47" around. 

I blogged that experience, as well. That was back when I thought I liked working out. But I didn't. I was mistaken. I hoped I could lie to motivate myself because working out to get in shape is HARD work. 

Now I hear the big thing is to make a lifestyle change, which to me sounds like putting myself on a diet and exercise plan for life – and that there is no room for Bojangles Cajun fries for as many times as I would want to eat a medium sized order of them.

Then what the hell am I working out for? A f***ing Paleo muffin?!

Just the thought of having to workout for the rest of my life is depressing, and every night I pray that if I get a chance to come back and do this again, I’ll come back as a naturally skinny bitch so I don’t have to worry about any of this business. Maybe I’ll have boobs, too.

I guess the main reason I go back everyday is that Crossfit works for me: it’s the most intense, total body workout I can do in the shortest amount of time per day – it’s just an hour. Everyone has an hour. And in that hour, as I'm doing any number of rounds or rounds possible in the shortest time I can, I'm calculating all the things I’d rather be doing, like laundry, cleaning and arranging the fridge magnets according to the Feng Shui method of balancing the energies around me.

Because as much as I complain that I dislike working out, I can now fit into my clothes again and things on my body are toned and tight where they should be (translation, I don’t have bingo wings, jelly butt or mom boobs). 

Do I need to Crossfit? No. But I'm a results oriented person and the program works. Plus, I can't pretend I'm an "elite athlete" if I'm on the elliptical for an hour a day (as if). When I think about quitting, which usually crosses my mind about every ten seconds during a WOD,  I try to remember what I used to look like naked or the first time my kid put on my size 7 short-shorts and they were still loose - even though I couldn't pull them over my thighs and it wasn't because they were muscular.

So, NO, I don't like working out. But I dislike being out of shape more.

Disclaimer: This is in no way, shape or form against Crossfit nor is it an endorsement for Crossfit. Crossfit is for anyone who wants to do it and challenge themselves or just blog and complain about how much they love and hate it at the same time. As always, you should consult a physician or professional before beginning any workout program. 

A festival of Thanks ...

“I don't need a holiday or a feast to feel grateful for my children, the sun, the moon, the roof over my head, music, and laughter, but I like to take this time to take the path of thanks less traveled,” ~ Paula Poundstone

I’m not big on the holidays. They always seemed like more of a stressful hassle than a good time. I know, it’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, when everyone thinks about and declares everything they are thankful for on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. And in their state of extreme benevolence and happiness, all is forgiven and well wishes are granted to all – especially to all exes and haterz. ß yes, with a ‘z.’

Right? I mean, I did get CCd on all the group text messages, including one from an ex (looking for that small crack to assert himself back in my life – I don’t forgive you, I hope you contract a certain STD and live a long life with it. I’m sorry, that wasn’t very benevolent of me, I didn't mean that … okay, maybe I’m not really sorry …) and others from chicks that wrote me off as a friend because I think I’m a better person, yet still wish me well because it makes them feel like a bigger person.

Well, I never thought that until they ‘unfriended’ me for such a shallow reason. And I would laugh, except I don’t really care. But, I digress.

So, much like I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions (waiting for the new year to improve your life is just a tactic of procrastination), I don’t participate in the once-a-year thank-fest. It’s not because I’m not thankful. It’s not even because I’m not inspired to be more forgiving than I already am most of the time. I know what I have to be thankful for – I am thankful every single day.

For the last two years, I haven’t seen my daughter on a holiday – to include her birthday – because I lived in another state. Getting to wake up Thanksgiving morning to see her grumpy, 15-year old, teenager face, and listening to her complain in her teenager voice about having to wake up so early on a holiday just to eat, was the best part of my day. The second best was spending the day with one of my BFFs (yes, I used an acronym) and being welcome even though I haven’t made the time to visit as often as I should. And the icing on the cake (icing that my friend offered to make just for me showing up) – knowing I’m going to be able to repeat this on Christmas Day and on my daughter’s birthday.

Basically, on any day for as long as I want to, I can make this happen. And for that, I am thankful.

Having unconditional friendships are another reason I’m thankful. You all know who you are – including the aforementioned friend. The ones who can call me out and listen when I do the same and yet are still there when the dust settles and we still don’t agree.

I am also thankful that my parents love me enough to pick up the phone any time I dial them in the future (dorky sci fi joke) and inevitably call too late or wake them up early because I am terrible at math and they are 14 hours ahead of my time. I didn’t visit them enough when they were stateside and can’t wait for them to come back next year, so I can smother them for the first three or four months before they fake their absence from home to create space (they wouldn’t actually do that, FYI).

I am thankful I am in better shape than my middle brother. Just kidding. He’s probably reading this right now. Hi, Matt. Remember when you offered me your paycheck from your job after I moved out at 18? And last year when you bought me the VooDoo Donut-man with the iced heart staked with a pretzel to commemorate me getting dumped? I do. I also remember when you had hair. You know, before you decided to have a crop circle buzzed into the back of your head. (That's what that is, right? It's not a bald spot?)

My little brother makes me thankful every day that he’s around to help me figure stuff out. Like the time, shortly after I purchased a $400 ring flash for my home studio, and he built one for just $40. He KNEW I should know I spent $360 more for something I didn’t actually need and that HE was the one who built it. He’s probably not reading this because he has a life outside the Internet.

But seriously, I have the two best brothers on the planet – they keep it real, won’t let me make excuses and don’t let me get away with crap. I’ve always said it.

And how can I forget my baby niece, who unselfishly gave up her room to me when I went to visit - and left me a welcome note that included permission to use her room? 

I have a great family who, even if we don’t see each other for a long time, always welcome each other when we make time. My kid’s pretty grounded and not into herself and her online presence like a lot of kids (and even some adults) are nowadays (calling myself out, too). And even though I’ve felt like I could die after some of the break-ups I’ve gone through (that I am willing to admit I may have contributed to by being too accommodating and available), I’m still alive.

Speaking of exes, let me give a special shout out to the one who surprised the shit out of me, pulled his head out of his ass and helped me move back home. 

These are all things I’m thankful for everyday. Along with the ability to blog about and over share the explicit details of my life for the amusement and/or entertainment (or even judgment) of others. Like, now. So, you know how I don’t participate in the status posts about being thankful for ‘x’ amount of things? Consider this my contribution – should fill the quota of the social network requirement for thankful posts for the rest of my life.

Is this really 40?

“Sure, I probably don’t look 40 (although my middle brother would argue I look close to 50), but I look at all the younger girls walking around wearing skinny jeans, ankle boots, tiny tops and no bra, glorifying how cute they look and I’m like, if I wore that, I’d look like a white trash stripper with a bad boob job – a person of WalMart.  My kid would be mortified …  I would look horrific. And yet, I’m ‘totes jelly.’ Maybe I didn’t take advantage of my 20s and 30s as I should have … ” ~ Me

I’m turning 40 this year.

F-O-R-T-Y.  As in the big 4-0.

Oh. My. God.

Turning 40 sucks and anyone who says it doesn’t is full of shit. It is NOT the new 20 or even the new thirty. It’s FORTY.

Everyone keeps asking me what I want to do to celebrate the big 4-0. No, I don’t want a party.

Honestly, I want to hole up in my apartment all weekend and eat stuff that will make me fat and watch stuff that will make me cry.

I want to browse through all the photos where I thought I was fat and ugly, and berate myself for spending most of my life wishing I were skinnier, prettier or just someone else instead of accepting me as I am - I would have had more energy and been happier. I don’t want to work out, wear make-up or shower. I want to stalk my friends’ Facebook pages and see what the under 40 crowd is doing so I can find something to hate about the twenties and thirties.

Let me ring in this new decade being a sad, blubbering mess of wrinkles, mom-boobs, cellulite and tears.

Okay, so, I don’t have mom-boobs.

And that may have been a little dramatic but, seriously, I’m not excited about turning forty. It means I’m almost fifty. I don’t really think I ever considered how I felt about my age until my friend’s 8-year old daughter, upon finding out I was 39, announced to an entire restaurant that I was “too old” to hang out with her daddy and friends - all who were in their mid to late twenties.  

  

In the last few weeks, I’ve turned to Google for funny anecdotes and blogs on turning 40 to help me adjust. I wanted to find someone else just as frustrated as I am about getting older, but everyone is so happy - WTF? Why are they happy and ‘zen’? They’ve had spiritual epiphanies and awakenings and shit. I am single, have acne, cellulite, gray hair - and I lost a molar!

Did you read that??? I LOST A TOOTH! And I lost it eating granola cereal, not on a jawbreaker. That’s just a lie I told everyone so they didn’t suspect that I was old enough for calcium deficiency to make my teeth fall out of my mouth. Sure, it was already cracked, but it still fell out … just weeks before my fortieth birthday. So, now I’m falling apart. Literally. I’d rather have mom boobs.

Um ... maybe not really. 

And I'm not ready to turn 40. I don’t feel 40 and I don’t act 40.

Wait … Do I look 40?

Amidst this panic, I’m not even sure why I’m freaking out about turning 40. Maybe it’s because I am at a ‘milestone’ age where I’m supposed to have it all together but I’m still a hot mess. Am I supposed to start doing ’40’ things? Which, I have no idea what those would be, but if I had to guess, I’d say they aren’t fun things as I imagine my parents would more than approve of them.

Speaking of which, the things I use to find fun, seem ridiculous now.

Most of my friends are way younger than me or they are my age and act way younger. I’m not interested in going out, dressed like ‘sexy Halloween,’ twerking and getting smashed every weekend where everyone knows my name – then posting said shenanigans on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Those things are fun in your 20s and early 30s, but ridiculous in your 40s. I’m not – and never was – about that life.

And ... I actually don’t think I can twerk. Seriously, crossfit, which I participate in, doesn’t prepare you for that and I’d probably throw my ass out. Spartan stretches and Jane Fondas won’t help either. But I digress.

  

Or maybe it’s that I can look back and see that I’ve (selfishly) lived my life doing most everything I wanted to do, and even though there's more I want to do, I’m not sure where to go from here.

• I made a person! Possibly my biggest (seriously, she’s taller than me) and proudest achievement in my life. I’ll never be able to top it. Ever. Unless I make another person.
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• I learned I am not the center of the universe. And that sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same thing - I learned that way before Coldplay wrote that song, and I'm seeing most people either don't understand or are in denial. 
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• I did a few illustrations for indie comic books. But, unless you were part of that scene – nah, I still wasn’t that good. But I wanted to be – now my art is a hobby.
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• I modeled, appearing in FHM, but unless you were part of the MySpace/ModelMayhem/OMP generation, you wouldn’t know that I was kind of an Internet Supermodel. A little. 
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• I acted onstage – and in movies! But, unless you were part of the indie film scene in NC, you would not know that among the movies I starred in (I can say that), two sound like porn titles. I never did porn, FYI.
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• I fell into journalism and writing – all because I lied about being able to write so that I could secure a job and found I loved it. But, unless you are familiar with military pubs, you wouldn’t know that I wrote two columns and many humorous commentaries about topics as they applied to my life. I still keep a blog for it.
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• I found my passion in photography. I share it often.
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• I’ve been married – and divorced – twice. Almost married a third time. Realized that not all douchebags wear Affliction. 

That’s the short list. I’m not ready to stop adding to the longer version yet. I want to spend time with my daughter, publish a book or two, not be single forever, make a home, possibly make another person, and travel. I want to see my brothers, nieces and parents more. I want to take thousands of pictures of life – happening – with my family and friends. Maybe run another 5K or try another crossfit event – just because I can. Draw more, read more and plug in less. I want to make my parents proud. I want to continue to forgive, let go and learn to make better choices ... and ... so ... much ... more ...

I don't want the last two decades back, but I want to press pause until I'm ready to start the next one. I want to feel like there’s still time and that maybe I didn't do this whole thing called 'my life' ass backwards and wrong.