Dear Joe...

Crying is so weird. For example, I'm having a normal boring night here. Which consists of me, scrolling through instagram, being envious over fake lives, searching for flights on Orbitz, trying to master my "eating chips in bed without getting crumbs in the sheets" skill, when suddenly I felt it. I felt this strange sensation overcoming me. Like, somewhere deep in my gut. I'm not sad. In fact, I've had quite a lovely weekend. I think sometimes, my body just absorbs all of this emotion and stress and craziness of life and I need an outlet. So I got myself a glass of wine and sat by the Christmas tree and allowed myself to cry for a little bit. Among the thoughts that crossed my mind: A. This tree, and home, are beautiful. My parents really did spend the past 35 years trying to build a ridiculously perfect Hallmark card of a life for us. My dad is retiring next year, and he can sit down and actually look at his life and be proud of what he's built. Wh...

So it's been brought to my attention, that in addition to not writing often enough, I also only write about very tragic issues. LOL I guess, it's just more interesting to hear about the dirty, ugly, struggles in life, than the happy, light-hearted shit. But, in an effort to show ya'll ALLLL sides of me, I guess I'll bore you with some happy shit. 10 Random Things That I Fucking Love. [In No Particular Order] 1. My daughter's laugh. It's loud, and honest and beautiful. 2. Red nail polish. It's just clean, and sexy and classic. See also, red lipstick. [Also I feel like it gives off the perfect "bedroom vixen" vibe without actually being half naked] 3. Any John Cusack movie. In particular, Say Anything and High Fidelity. He is my perfect movie boyfriend. 4. Water. Literally any body of water. If you're dating me, and I"m being a total bitch, just throw me in the car and drive me to somewhere where I can sit and gaze out on a large bo...

I had to stop by my storage unit today. I've been driving around with a trunk full of my old life. I guess I just haven't had the metal energy to go and deposit 5 years worth of love into a 12x12 concrete space. Until today. I was in there, sweating, digging through boxes, flushed with the memories of my past lives. Tripping over the physical representation of all the love, loss, anger, happiness, that has all piled up in my heart. And in my storage unit. A little living mausoleum. RIP Old Christina. See the thing we always forget about the past, is that as long as you're holding onto that shit (physically or mentally) you can't even begin to have room to add new things. New love. New stories. New books. New treasures. Even new hurts. My past and my future collided this week. Sparing the gory details, I was left at the end of it, literally alone. Just looking around. Wondering what the hell happened. I spent most of the week angry. Mad at my ex-boyfriend f...

My therapist diagnosed me with “SNL” disease. I’m not even fucked up enough to get a real diagnosis. Not bi-polar. Not manic depressive. Nothing cool that can provide me with pills and a weekly support group in a church basement. With stale cookies, and bad coffee, and some overly positive woman with a floral dress and big permed hair giving me hugs and telling me about Jesus and all that. I’m so screwed up that he made up a syndrome based on a comedy sketch show. His explanation was that, I use humor to cover up the trauma in my life. He said that when I talked about myself, it was as if I was telling a story about someone else; like I was reading from a book. I was apparently, emotionally detached from the shit that’s being carried around in my brain. And I am only happy when people are laughing at me. Or with me. Or when I can be the center of attention. And once the show ends. And the crowd leaves. And the comedy is over, I go home and cry. Self medicate with drugs and liquor. So...

Oh nostalgia. You sneaky little bastard. The thing about aging, is that you tend to collect things. You hold on to things. I guess, you get more sentimental. When suddenly faced with your impending death, and more traumatic, sagging titties, you keep little things that make you feel young and lovely. For example, tonight: I'm wearing my Metallica t-shirt, that I used for a Halloween costume about 4 years ago when I was Axel Rose. (How ironic) with my best friend Desiree. Best costume in the world. And best friend in the world. All the tears, and makeup and vomit she's cleaned up of mine over the years haha. Woman needs an award. I'm wearing two of my grandmothers rings that I promise to never remove. (RIP Esther) I don't believe in magic, but they bring me some sort of focus and clarity. It's all mental I know, but each time I look down, I think of what advice she would give me, or what she would say about whatever situation I was going through. I still...