Tom Petty & my heartbreak.

Confession: there was a time in my life when I told people I was sexually attracted to Tom Petty. Years actually. From 8th grade till this exact moment.

Let me preface: Junior high is hard & it’s harder when your the new kid. I had moved in 8th grade and made friends with a group of girls who loved rockers. They all had one: Jim Morrison, Kirk Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong. I really wanted to fit in. So I chose fast and hard and went with that sex muffin Petty. In fairness his greatest hits was just released and Last Dance with Mary Jane was a very popular song. Also, I don’t think I fully understood the level of commitment it would take to tell people I wanted to bone Tom Petty. Even in 1994 Tom Petty looked a middle aged lesbian with a pretty creepy vibe. I would have to say things like, “Man, I wish I was a dead Kim Basinger slow dancing with that hot piece of Petty ass.”  (for those who didn’t pretend to sexually fantasize about Tom Petty, that’s a reference to his Mary Jane music video). Music videos about boning dead ladies was considered artistic back then. It was a different/gentler time.

Also, I’m not sorry. I still love Tom Petty. Wildflowers is one of my favorite, if not my favorite album of all time. I’ve had a bunch of amazing times at his concerts. So in an effort to practice gratitude, I stand by my decision. If I could talk to my 13 year old self, I would say: “Do it again. Pretend to want to bone Tom Petty. It’s ok if your a liar & a weirdo, you’ll go to some good concerts and discover some good music.” so with that, I say thank you, Mr. Petty. Thank you for the years of good music and sexual confusion.


Thank you for being a friend.

So I’m dipping my toes into the self help world. I’ve always been a bit skeptical of the self help world because my dad has been a long time subscriber and his spiritual journey often felt…..confusing. For example, he wasn’t afraid to tell us (his kids) to “Shut up!” because he was meditating. Also I’ve struggled with fitting in & when I browsed the self help section of Barnes & Noble it often felt like I was cruising for porn. The weird kind. But I’m here and ready to party with some self helpers.

My Take-Aways:

Gratitude: Learn it. Live it. Your life will improve. Immediately. As someone who is drawn to the cynical and sarcasm, this is hard for me sometimes. It’s easy to go down the ‘life is hard’ and ‘why me’ path? Plus, the news is filled with horror stories. I heard Steven Fry questioning how loving and benevolent god could be if he created pediatric bone cancer. One of the sweetest, funniest, most popular kids in my high school died in a car crash. One of my closest friends at the wheel. I could go on & on. We all could. Life is filled with tragedies, which is why it’s so important to focus on the beauty. To actively seek it out.

Also, listening to Tony Robbins talk about how people who have had the deepest tragedies can rise to be the most empathetic, strong, kind hearted people. I really liked hearing this message. Too often in our society we are willing to sympathize with victims and then label them as “damaged”. If people are able to work through their tragedies, they have the potential to sore higher then people who have not experienced them. I truly believe in the idea “Rougher seas make better sailors.” If you can learn how to navigate these hardships, you will be a better ‘life’ sailor.

Make Art because no one gives a fuck. No one cares. People are often so concerned about what people are going to think about them and the sad and awesome truth is: no one really gives a shit. So have an opinion. Create. Rock the boat. When your on death bed are you going to be thinking: “I’m really glad I didn’t create anything because Matt the middle school dickhead might make fun of me.” Matt the dickhead has other things going on then your art. He’s walking around terrified that everyone’s going to find out why he’s such a dickhead. Also, people will complain no matter what you do. I know a girl who created a bucket list for her 2 year old daughter who is dying of cancer: it was the sweetest, most beautiful thing in the world and yet still people called her “selfish” online. It’s insane. People have their own shit and it can make them nasty and mean and it has nothing to with you, unless you let it. I can’t help but think what if this mother thought about what some online troll thought about her creating a bucket list and didn’t do it. All that beauty and kindness would be lost. And for what? I read a news article yesterday questioning Mother Teresa’s motives. I mean, Mother Teresa (a LITERAL Saint) can’t escape this shit. Do you think she’s sitting on her saint cloud regretting her life of service? No. She’s eating a saint sandwich (my guess would be a BLT), hanging out with Nelson Mandela waiting for Bette Milder to get there.

My final takeaway: Life’s not about how much you have but how much you give. There is so much focus on consumerism & keeping up with the Jones, that the real joy of giving is lost. Never in a eulogy is the square foot of someone’s house mentioned (with the probable exception of Heather DuBrow). When summing up someone life it’s about how they gave back to their community, how they helped people and their relationships with people they loved.

Final, final thought: Thank you to anyone who is reading this. It means the world to me. Taking the time to listen or hear what someone else has to say is such a gift and I’m very grateful for your time.


Before we go any further.

I feel like you should know something about me.

When I was 22 I was at a club drinking a fair amount. I like to dance and I’m not afraid to dance by myself. Truthfully I was never coordinated enough to “bump and grind” I was always grinding while someone was bumping. It was uncomfortable for all involved. In my defense I can bump and grind, just not with another human person.

So I have a solid buzz and some good music playing. I’m dancing alone, totally in my element when I see out of the corner of my eye a girl dancing very similar to my style. I am elated. I can’t believe my luck. I dance over to her, BEAMING the whole time. We are so insync that when I go to high five her, she reaches out at the same time. That’s when it happened. I looked into the girls eyes and discovered it wasn’t actually another person. It was me. I had just DANCED over to and HIGH FIVED a mirror.

Needless to say there is a moment of panic when I realize this. I stood there, frozen, hand on mirror. I look around horrified to see if anyone noticed. WHICH OF COURSE THEY DID. I’ll never forget the hot black guys face as we both stared, stunned. I looked over at my friend and she literally had to push me to stop this from happening.

Now I know there are layers of weird here. Why would I give someone a high five as a dance move? Why didn’t I immediately take my hand down once I noticed it was me. And, of course, the most glaringly obvious one: how come I didn’t notice it was me. I’m not going to lie. That one hurts.

I’m telling this stories for a few reasons. One if I ever sound too preachy about my parenting style, please remember that I have also confessed to high fiving myself in the mirror, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. And if you ever feel judged, don’t let it get to you. The person doing the judging has probably also danced up and high fived themselves in a mirror. Well, probably not, but they have probably let out a baby fart, thinking it would be a much softer, gentler fart and stunk up a room. Don’t let that fart mis-judger steal your sunshine! We are all in this parenting thing together and if people aren’t coming from a place of true helpfulness and love, then maybe they are just in a sad place and it has nothing to do with you. And as orginal bad-ass Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” This includes other moms. I haven’t experienced this a ton, mostly because my kids are young, but I can imagine mom-judging makes one feel pretty rotten. Please remember that someone elses opinion of you is none of your business. And if that doesn’t help, know that that stinky fartsmeller is probably just upset because of that time she lost control of her butthole.

As long as you love your children, you’re doing an amazing job.

trainer strikes again

I know this blog has become more about me and the trainers at my gym then my children but I promise I’m half-assing my parenting as much as my gym time.

This is the latest encounter with my gym nemesis:

Him: “Mam. Mam. MAAMMMM!!”

Me: Please god let there be another MAM. I don’t see anyone but maybe their just hiding under a weight bench.

He doesn’t give up and then touches my shoulder. I’m SCREWED.

Trainer: “Hi Mam. I just had to introduce myself.”

Me: “Hi. We’ve met.”

Him: “No way. I would never forget meeting you.”


Me: “No, we’ve met.”

*I fail to mention I have a blog post calling him a pushy needledick.*

Him: “WAIT! Did I train you?” Smiles Hugely.

Me: No. (but I’m glad that he could so proudly forget about someone he’s trained as he’s actively trying sell this exact service)

I explain that I don’t really have time to talk and basically come to the gym because there’s a drive thru Dunkin’ Doughnuts near by.

He ignores my statement completely and talks about training things. So I interrupt him and talk about mothering things. Like how important a drive thru Dunkin Doughnuts is to a parent: you don’t have to get out of the car, there are doughnuts and coffee. He tries to bring it back to training stuff & lock me down with a session tomorrow but I counter with my favorite doughnut: currently strawberry sprinkle. Though glazed will always hold a special place in heart.

Then the sneaky devil tries to use food as a way discuss nutrition. I guess maybe he was impressed with my doughnuts knowledge. It is vast. But, not today Satan. NOT TODAY. I can feel my rage for him increase as I think of some other woman getting the last US weekly or strawberry frosted doughnut. So I excuse myself and say that I can’t do personal training because I’m a mother. He’s asks “What does that even mean?” Honestly, I have no idea. I’m just spouting words to safely get to a treadmill that is centrally located near the magazines and TV.

Luckily, this bizarre statement has him stumped and I use this an opportunity to walk away, mumbling about how I’m a mom. Which still makes no sense BUT it does keep our conversation to under 2 minutes and I ended up with the doughnut of my dreams so this, my friends, how you win a conversation with a trainer.