I’m going to admit, I’ve been in a bit of a funk for the past two weeks.
Fall is here, it is colorful and crisp and beautiful, and it also makes me start to dread the inevitable winter when my endorphins, hormones, serotonin, Norah Jones, or whateverthehelltheyare brain chemicals start to plummet. When I go into a dreadful winter depression FUNK.
So fuck that.
I’m taking precautions and doing whatever I can to prevent it from getting really bad.
The professionals call this being proactive.
One thing I do is laugh at that little dude called “Brobee” on Yo Gabba Gabba. His arms are hilariously long and stupid, and whoever does his voice-over has a funny high-pitched thing going on. Brobee and Yo Gabba Gabba in general make me want to smoke some serious doobies. And eat some ranch flavored Corn Nuts. And sing. And hug my kids. And eat more Corn Nuts.
I also organize closets. It makes me feel good.
Sometimes I like to think about Martha Stewart.
I dream about her life and household improvement empire, and I also wonder if she has sex and who it’s with. I wonder what positions she might do the deed in. Because this stretches my imagination. I’m pretty sure Martha has constructed this asexual persona on purpose.
I also like to think about Martha’s awesomely snarky daughter, Alexis. I bet she has wild, nasty sex while dressed in black leather. I bet Alexis has a nice collection of whips. The three times I’ve seen Alexis talk on TV, she made me snort with laughter.
I remind myself I have good friends who love me for who I am, who have my back, who don’t create unneeded drama, and who, in their busy lives, still find time for friendship and answering texts. They cheer me on and are extremely lovable.
I think about taking ballroom dancing lessons.
Preferably from him:
I play dress up and pretend that I have somewhere important to go.
I also like to internally bitch to myself about various things that get on my nerves. Like ridiculous Utah drivers. And mullets on women. And too many moles on my body, and homework for 2nd graders, and Barack Obama saying “UM” a jillion times during one debate, and people who walk too slow in the cross walk, what a miserable failure I am at taking vitamins and supplements, and how lame men are when they are sick. Yes, bitching to myself makes me happy. Because it makes me realize how ridiculous life is.
Another thing I do to make myself happy when things get dreary is make rap videos. Since I’m now forty, this is a very age-appropriate activity.
We have a new director friend for our rap videos. I think she will be a hugely vast improvement over our homemade videos with the boombox playing in the background. I’m beyond thrilled to have another friend who is enthusiastic about our very retarded endeavor. She even made a trailer for the new video we shot a week ago. A TRAILER. How cool is that?
I am dedicating this trailer to Cupcake Murphy, who is my one Internet friend who proclaims the awesomeness of ladies who display their mid-life crises by rapping. By the way, her website rocks.
We’ll just end here with me trying to squeeze on those polyester pants.