YEAH, lookin’ right at ya, Santa…

My friend texted this to me and asked if I’d wear it, and HELL yes! I’ve been looking for that perfect special something to wear to Christmas dinner with my family.

“HI, DAD.”

All the women, who independent, throw your hands up in frustration…

So, I haven’t mentioned that I’m moving again, probably in about 2 weeks. The rent in my generic, cookie-cutter apartment complex is going up to an amount that’s basically a mortgage. I COULD pay it, but decided to go see what else I could get for that amount or less.

Turns out, I can get the same amount of space but WAY cuter, a more walkable neighborhood, better food options, and closer to everyone I love, for about $400 less a month.

I made lists. I did math. I considered all my life factors and made a grownup decision. When I talked to my therapist, she told me it sounds like the perfect choice for everything I’ve said is important to me, including my budget and mental health.

NO one in my family is happy for me. Everyone got some shit to say.

Today my grandfather offered to let me move in with him, basically rent free, saying my new rent is “still a lot of money,” and my dad chimed in and said, “Yeah, can you imagine putting that amount in the bank every month? After 5 years you’d have, what, $60,000?”

Um…$60,000 for WHAT, exactly? My retirement to an institution because I haven’t had sex in 5 years and have gone insane living with a 90-year-old man who watches home shopping at full volume all day and lectures me about my sodium intake?

It’s a VERY sweet offer, honestly. I’m incredibly grateful. If I am ever in any form of dire life straits, obviously this would be a lifesaver. (Speaking of which, I’m not a total asshole — Granddad doesn’t need live-in help; his health is probably better than mine.)

But I know my family, and this is a goddamn trap. I love my grandfather, but dude IS the patriarchy. I’ve lived alone for 5 years, sir, sometimes unemployed, and the beauty of that particular soul crush is, you learn to fucking handle your bid-ness. I don’t know what kind of helpless, broke-ass princess they think they’ve raised, but I ain’t havin’ it.

I am going to live alone, and walk around naked, and stay up too late, and binge watch My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on weekends, and hopefully have noisy, raucous sex followed by salt-laden Indian takeout at the first available opportunity.

NOW. If you’ll please excuse me, I gotta go throw my hands up at Destiny’s Child.

Don’t even try it — Jesus knows you’re petty.

During Easter dinner conversation, my aunt said political protests are pointless because, “The election is over. These people just need to move on with their lives.”

Um, BITCH, you’re still salty about some shit my mother said about your potato salad in 1987, so you better hope the new healthcare plans cover legs to stand on.

“I’m gonna dress you up in my [self] love…”

And speaking of party dresses…

Whenever you put on a piece of clothing, look in the mirror, and think, “Is that MY body? GodDAMN, I want to have sex with myself!”, you need that garment in your life.

Perfect mindset for tonight’s family party, no? (Hush, there’ll be other people there.)

Via LOFT:

My family shuns my food baby.

I spent the day with extended family, which first means I can’t handle anymore noise and am incapacitated in silence on the couch. But it also means I spent the day being lauded for being “so petite!” and looking “so cute in skinny jeans!” Because apparently that’s an achievement. “I could never wear those, I’d look like a beached whale!”

Oh, it’s TOTES easy, you guys. All you have to do is upend your entire adult life: lose two consecutive jobs; get your heart broken twice (once in love, once in friendship); move apartments twice; doubt your overall worth; get fat; see therapists you can’t really afford; get prescribed drugs that make you lose your previously voracious appetite; get thin because you’re eating half as much; and constantly worry that even this tiny rug of vague stability you’ve managed to weave for yo’ damn self is going to be pulled out from under you.

In the words of Elle Woods: “What, like it’s hard?”

I don’t know why I waste my time on my silly blog when I could clearly be writing the next big self-help book.

I was also told how “natural” I looked holding Baby Cousin, and got the “Maybe you’ll change your mind someday, you never know.” Um, well, first, I’m 40 and single, so time’s a wastin’, and second, I was sure enough to end a decade-long relationship over the matter, which you’re aware of, so I think I’m set. Thanks for the reminder, though. And also you’re a dick.

Besides, in our family, being skinny vs. breeding seems very much an either/or situation. I’m gonna need you to prioritize your pressure. If I’m understanding correctly, being fat is acceptable as long my fat is the result of creating a person? But it’s not cool if it’s just a food baby?

Family rally cry? Family rally cry.

I know you guys aren’t on my side with the country music, but I think we can all agree Pistol Annies have been reading my journal as we approach my family’s Christmas dinner. This is my new favorite song to sing in the car. (Shut up, I am SUPER hot when I have twang.)

“Well, Daddy’s reading propaganda
And he’s talkin’ ’bout the end of days
Well, cheers to the vodka Mama’s been sneakin’,
Let’s all gather ’round and pray.

“So I snuck out behind the red barn
And I took myself a toke
Since everybody here hates everybody here
Hell, I might as well be their joke.

“I’m gonna dance up on the table
Singing ‘This Little Light of Mine’
God gave it to me, what good’s it gonna do me
If I don’t, by God, let it shine?

“Hide your tattoo,
Put on your Sunday best,
Pretend you’re not a mess,
Be the happy family in the front pew…”

“Hush hush, don’t you dare say a word
Hush hush, don’t you know the truth hurts
Hush hush, when push comes to shove,
It’s best to keep it hush hush.”