Winnebago Wisdom

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“I suppose we’re all possessed in some way. Some of us with dependence on pills or wine. Others through sex or gambling. Some of us through self-destruction or anger or fear. And some of us just carry around our tiny demon as he wreaks havoc in our mind, tearing open old dusty trunks of bad memories and leaving the remnants spread everywhere. Wearing the skins of people we’ve hurt. Wearing the skins of people we’ve loved. And sometimes, when it’s worst, wearing our skins. That’s the worst….” –Jenny Lawson, Furiously Happy.

I am trying to ponder on what I would like to put forth for 2016. I am trying to come up with positive sentiments, a bright and cheery outlook and that ethereal silver lining that puts it all into perspective. A motto, an intention or a personal mantra of sorts that will inspire my dwindling readership to throw celebratory arms up in the air in conciliatory support.

It’s there. Somewhere. Like, right on the tip of my tongue.

But what the fuck? Why fake it? Because truth be told, the last three months of 2015 have been shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit…shit. Shitty, shit, shit. Honey Buckets, Sani-Cans, and Porta-Johns overflowing with rivers of brown, (and blue, cause what is that stuff anyways?) stinky, smelly, Taco-Bell-bean-paste-cat-paté–fois gras-baby diaper-chocolate pudding-liverwurst-doo-doo.

And well, I want to leave all that of shit behind me in 2016.

So what do you do? What lessons do I take from the suffering? When the shit hits the fan, how do you move forward and not feel hardened? Blocked? Like the bowels of a celiac that just binged on biscuits, bagels and beer. How do you turn all of that constipation into unicorns happily dumping rainbow sherbet soft-serve into sugar cones with sprinkles

Santa still hasn’t brought me my Squatty Potty.

I guess the first step is acknowledging and accepting which piles are yours. Oh yes, there is a smattering of little rabbit-turds left behind (my behind) and a lot of them are mine. Hunched over and armed with those biodegradable shit sacs, I am scooping up pellets of bad decisions, enemas of regrets, and undigested moments that probably stemmed from a cramped and clogged sense of self-esteem. Picking up your own poo is a VERY humbling experience. Hopefully, armed with humor, compassion and a Costco-sized bottle of Febreze, we are able to take responsibility for our mistakes and clean up our mess.

“Whoops. I done fucked THAT one up.”
Smooth move, Exlax.”

Within that cleaning-up process, I also need to learn to find confidence and TRUST in my intuition. Sometimes it whispers, but most of time it yells.  And even though I habitually stuff bits of toilet paper so deep into my aural cavities that it tickles that weird little, stirrup-shaped bone, my intuition has been bang-on.

Every. Single. Time. And yet still, I refuse to listen.

So for better or worse, here’s my list for 2016:

I will stop incessantly trying to come up with poo puns.

I will stop buying shit on Craigslist that I already have and don’t need and then resell.

I will stop dating men who have weird, unresolved shit with their exes.

I will not allow hardship to harden me, but will strive to stay open and keep the faith that positivity and love will win in the end.

I will take risks and I will live bravely.

I will not dumb-down my emotions, my sensibilities and my intuition, which guides me like a compass, even when I walk in the opposite direction.  I will work hard to listen and pay attention.

I will not be anything less than real: with myself, with others, but mostly with myself, because nobody likes a liar.  I will not self-medicate with sentimental sentiments (red wine will do) and even that will fall by the wayside in 2016—the wine, or the sentiments?? Hmm…jury’s still out on that one. We do not grow by being happy all of the time. Sometimes anger has its’ place.

I will not self-deprecate. I will accept my follies and my failures. My successes and my triumphs.  I will work diligently and with fervor to define what I want and what I deserve and to draw that line clearly in the sand so that I do not settle or compromise for anything less. I will stop convincing myself that I am not worthy or unlovable.

So there you have it folks. Without sugar coating, or seeking sentimental satiation; my motto, and my mantra for 2016…and as the wise Winnebago man once said:

“I don’t want anymore bullshit from anyone. And that includes ME!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bootylicious

bootilicious

Around this time of year we have a family tradition.

My dad passes around these little cards to anyone who might happen to be spending the holiday with us.  These cards are usually small, unique and special.  Cards you don’t just find anywhere.  He finds these cards over the year and hoards them in his secret stash for this very occasion.  You see, the cards HAVE to be special because it is not just any Hallmark greeting that is going to be written on these cards.  On these cards we will write our deepest hearts’ desires for the following year.  On these cards, we will write our Big.  Ass.  Dreams.
(And yes, that’s what we call them)

These are not the dreams that you have which are fleeting, or the dreams that you have while riding the bus.  These are not the dreams that you have in your sleep or New Year’s Resolutions that you know you will not follow.   These dreams are the ones that tug on your heartstrings daily, the constant whispers that we are most likely to ignore.

If you’ve ever walked the Mall in Washington D.C., it’s like starting at one end with the Lincoln Memorial, and then to the middle with the Washington Monument, and then finally, at the end of the road, badabingbadaboom:  The White House.  This is not a political campaign, nor am I suggesting we perpetuate the American Dream by saying that we can all be president if we set our minds to it.  What I’m getting at here is scale.  We’re not talking peanuts.

We’re talking Big.  Ass.  Dreams.

The Rules of the B.A.D are as follows:

1.  On your card you may write one to three of your most daring hearts’ desires.  BUT, they have to be tangible and measurable by next years’ end.  For example, “I will win the lottery and marry a millionaire” is probably not very tangible.  However, “I will move to Seattle, get a job at Microsoft in hopes that Bill Gates will fall in love with me” is something a little more reasonable.  If you DID move to Seattle and got a job at Microsoft, even if Bill Gates did not see you fit to photocopy his bum-cheeks, we’d still give you a golf-clap of approval because two outta three ain’t bad.

2.  Your B.A.D. MUST remain top secret throughout the year.  You cannot tell your lover, your priest, your therapist or your dog.  Capice?  TOP SECRET!!!

3.  You must seal the envelope of your card with a kiss and positive thoughts.  And then you deposit self-blessed envelope into a very magical pouch, which gets stashed and stored until next year.

Each year we read each other our previous years’ hopes and dreams.  We applaud one another for success and we support one another through failure.

So as the dawn of a New Year fast approaches, I encourage you to pause for a moment.  Find a little card or even a piece of paper.  Listen to the whispers of your heartstrings and go for it.  Write it down.  Send it out there.

For I am wishing you the most humongous of hineys, the biggest of booties, the most colossal of cabooses, the maximus of gluteus, the daring-est of derrières; the awesome arse, fantastical fanny, serious seat-warmer,  the all-I-wanna-do-is-a-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-and-a-zoom-zoom-Rump-Shaking, Bootylicious BIGGEST, BADDEST-ASSED DREAMS for 2013.

Happy New Year.

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