Who Tells Your Story

I’m about 48 hours out from USAO Homecoming 2016 and I have to say, my body still aches a bit from the laughter. This one was a true reunion  in that for the first time, I was on that campus that I love so well with my people.

It was a coming together for many of us almost 20 years in the making, I think it’s been 17 years since I’ve seen Greg in real life. Joe I have seen in the last 10 years.  We all connect on social media but this was honest to god, facebookless, real life face to face connection.

We were a Bruce Springsteen song.

In fact at one point in the first night at the shitty little bar at the former Best Western, I’m pretty sure I put a $20 in the juke box and we heard some Bruce.

Who the hell can remember. one two three not me.

Memories flowed as fast as the booze. We told stories, sad ones, funny ones, hopeful ones. We remembered what the other forgot. We filled in the blanks. I met new loves of my old friends and they turned into instant friends. I reconnected with the guys who I only knew because of the ex-husband I followed to that campus. I reconnected with the girls who were the cool girls, the pretty girls, the ones I always wanted to know.

I got to induct my friend Joe into the alumni hall of fame.

I got to eat brunch at the fanciest house I’ve ever been in. . . bigger than the Blue Banana…that kind of house.

On top of all of that, I got to serve alongside my fellow board members who I genuinely care about and love spending time with. Homecoming isn’t for sissies. It. Is. Exhausting. This board is engaged and we do some work. We also have a large time while we do it.

The hangovers were spectacular. The laughter was even better.

As I drove home, Chickasha in the rear view, the smell of honky tonk karaoke and “just one more” still in my hair, I was listening to Hamilton.

and while No one should be surprised by that…these lines kept ringing in my heart:

Let me tell you what I wish I’d known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control:

Who lives
Who dies
Who tells your story?

As I sat around the table that final night, having heard how my friend quit drinking vats of vodka because he became a husband and a dad, how he doesn’t miss one ballgame of his kid’s, as I listened to how two gorgeous souls found each other as they walked out of the fire and ash, as I was reminded why Etch is called Etch, laughing as we had shots that HEYWAITTHATDIDNTSUCK…I thought how grateful I am that these are the ones who will tell that story. (if we can remember the damn thing)

So many stories. Mine. His. Hers. All different.

But for a few days…connected.

One story.

And holy hell did we tell it.

My liver hurts. My kidneys are pissed.

But oh man is my heart full.


GO VOTE tomorrow ya’ll.

History has it’s eyes on you.

It’s that Feckin’ Mercury in Retrograde Again!

Apparently Mercury is in Retrograde again.

This has become the equivalent of a week of crazy PMS only to see what has been causing the crazy and the dawning in your mind of Ohhhhhhhhhh. Well now it all makes sense!

I’m not sure how long this bitch has been retrograding but this vacation was perfectly timed.

I am weary of being surrounded by negative energy, shitty communication and just general all around funk. Work has the usual stresses that just comes with this time of year. Budgeting. No money because: non-profit in Oklahoma.  Audit. But this year it has been soul-sucking.  And whatever it is…is just pounding on every single person up there. It’s hard. For everyone.

And apparently Mercury isn’t helping, for fecks sake.

My hope is that this long weekend will refuel all of us.  I know this time away will do some healing good for my soul. Isn’t that the way the Universe works though? The hours leading up to refreshment will just suck you dry. Cosmically designed to make us appreciate what we have in all forms.

Sitting by the fire, conversations with friends, getting time away with my husband. That man grounds me and talks me off the ledge with such grace it’s like his super power. We have plans for this life and talking about them makes me excited. Being away from the things of man. That excites me.

I’ve turned off my work phone. I will have mine on, for emergencies and photos but my goal is to stay away from the internets once we get to the mountains. I’ve got some books to read. Some podcasts to listen to. Some music to enjoy.

This time tomorrow I’ll be surrounded by a national forest and will need long sleeves.

Take THAT Mercury!



That was TODAY???

The past few weeks have been frenetic. There have been networking events, celebrations, promotions for a major work event, juggling a bunch of different work styles and trying to keep ahead of the game, Mom’s knee surgery, a trip to see her, and the fall out from the last week with anxiety rearing it’s ugly head. Oh and the menopause and rage and stabby hormones.

Ya’ll I straight up forgot about a board meeting yesterday at my alma mater. I could have sworn it was next week. Or today. But never did I think it was yesterday. Not once. Just a blank page of nothing in terms of my memory and figuring out what goes where.

I said more than once yesterday, that I’ve got to get centered. I’ve got to slow it down and get focused and get to the point where I’m living this life vs. this life living me. It’s bonkers.

I know it’s a combo of all the things. I’m worried about Mom. I have guilt that Taryn is shouldering it all. I’m dealing with the crazy hormones or lack thereof and I swear to gawwwwwd I could’ve stabbed people the past two weeks. Sweaty and Stabby. That’s a hateful combination and yet…that was me.


I’m in need of meditation. of some lady yoga. of some energy work. of some breathing. of some laughing. of some sweet mountain air (just a few weeks and I’ll be there)

Today I’m meal prepping. Roasting some chickpeas and planning food so that I quit going off the rails every single day with that. Sheesh.

The air is lovely. The temps are civilized and I’m taking a minute to recognize that each breath is a gift.

Happy Sunday, ya’ll.

Road Trip Fun

Road tripping to vacation is always fun.

Last week we had music, we sang, we laughed, we made our own inside jokes, we heard You Tubes that had us doubled over weeping,

The ride home was not as fun.

We all just wanted out of the car. We had exhausted our music choices. Nothing was satisfying.

So we put on some podcasts. I introduced Maggie to Again With This: 90210 and we listened to them dissect episodes of the great Aaron Spelling genre. It’s one of my go-to podcasts.

Maggie then went on a search and found one that literally had me almost pulling off the road because I was laughing so hard I couldn’t see.

My Dad Wrote A Porno. 

Look it up.

It’s not safe for work, or children, or anyone with a hyper active adversity to anything remotely resembling 50 Shades of Grey.

It’s three people basically doing the same thing, line by line, of the book written by one of the guys’s dads.

They’re British.

It makes it so much better.

Listen to the first one and tell me you don’t gasp for air from all the laughing!

I haven’t listened to anymore because a) I feel like I need Maggs with me and b) it’s dangerous to listen and drive.


Happy Wednesday!

Christmas Adam in July

My stomach muscles are still sore from all of the laughing that happened last week.

Between the road trip you tube playlists, to the inside El Reno jokes that we will spout off forever (#kimono), the rooftop cookies and cocktails, the shiny sparkles at Red Rocks to the general precariousness of 7 women who have never traveled together as a pack before and navigating all of that personality..let’s just say this trip was one none of us will ever forget!

We have so many stories, and our Maggie is really the Chief Storyteller of this tribe, so I have no fear that we will laugh and re-tell and laugh more with each coming year. We ate some many delicious things and the beer….lordahmercy I think we tasted ALL OF THE BEER in the state.

I mean…we tried.

Red Rocks was everything I dreamed it would be and more. I cannot wait to sit next to my husband and soak in some music and look at the skyline of Denver and just be.

I could do without anymore super long road trips for awhile.

Because we’ve all read about how my hormones are just sideways from normal and my ability do negativity and bullshit is quite low. So anyone that needs to drive straight through without stopping will need to take another car next time. I’m laughing as I type that, less anyone gets the wrong idea. I’m laughing. But I’m absolutely one hundred percent serious. Never. Again. (#AlwaysGonnaStop)

I loved this time together, I truly did. This group gets random minutes together during the year, and maybe a few collective hours on Christmas Adam every year. The gift this week was getting to have amazing conversations with women I don’t often get to see, with women I used to see on a daily basis but don’t…life takes us different places but it’s a good, soul filling thing to take the time and make the effort to be together.

I’m exhausted and my liver still aches a bit but my heart is full. It was a great week, and somewhere in Denver there is an Uber driver who is telling anyone who will listen about this group of girls he picked up after the Dolly Parton concert. He was trying to be joe cool and pulled out a cd of Dolly to show us he was hip to our tunes too.

When it proved to be a Christmas cd, which I will maintain forever that he had never listened to before, we all burst forth into song.

The look on his face sent me…literally…into a laughing tizzy. I couldn’t catch my breath. When I did, it was only to belt out some Santa Clause is Coming To Town.

The video has been posted to several of our Instagrams and Facebooks. It’s my favorite thing ever.

Christmas Adam in July was everything I ever hoped it would be.

So much love, followed by so much sleep.




Have you heard the phrase “The best way to get over a guy is to get under another one?”

I think that’s what I’m doing in life right now.

The best way to get over Rock Camp is to pack the car with women that I adore and drive to the mountains to see Dolly Parton at Red Rocks.

The car is cleaner than it’s been in years. The oil and fluids are fresh. The windows sparkle. I’ve got clean clothes that I’ve yet to pack, some folding money, and a ticket on the party bus that will deliver us to and fro the concert.

I’m going into hydrate mode to combat any crazy altitude funk.

I did have a small little hiccup when I went to create a playlist and noticed about 90% of my music library has disappeared. But you know what? Not a big deal.

The only thing that I’m going to spend any energy worrying about today is a hashtag for our trip.

I’ll go to the park tonight to support The Depot and watch Brave Combo.

Tomorrow we ride.


The Big M

I’ve got the menopause.

I know.

I know.

It is perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. And perhaps we aren’t supposed to talk about it on a platform like this or anywhere but the Red Tent, but I figure I don’t have kids so I can’t mommyblog.

I can however, menoblog.

I’ve got the menopause.

I assure you, it’s the truth.

I had bloodwork done in January after some very obvious signs that I had, in fact, contracted the menopause. It was pretty clear that something was amiss. Mostly estrogen.

The hot flashes. Sweet mother of pearl, can we talk about how much those suck? So I finally waved the white flag and went to my primary care doc and we decided to try some hormone patches.

The first week I was on those was Cousinpalooza.

I was a freakin wreck. So emotional. And turns out, it can interfere with certain alcoholic beverages. WHICH I CALL BULLSHIT ON BECAUSE CAN YOU NOT SEE THE SWEAT DROPS DROPPING FROM MY DAMN LIP???

I got really close to inappropriate levels of drunk and disorderly that week. Thank God we are family. They still love me. The newbies maybe cautious of ever hanging again, but I’ll win them over soon enough.

I wore the patches for one month solid and while the hot flashes were lessened, I felt depressed. I felt like I was going to kick start back onto the train of monthly eating and emo..OH WAIT I DID.

I know that my experience last week was one filled with emotion. But my eyes are STILL feeling like they’re coated in sandpaper from all the tears. I’m better than Sally Field at crying on command. (ok let’s be real, I was good at that prior to contracting the menopause) I just want to throw my arms up and scream.


I am not doing all of the mourning of my womanhood, I am a little freaked out that I’m 45 and this is where I am. Honestly, I’m freaked out that I’m 45. That is still weird to me but whatever. Here’s the thing:

I want to be healthy.

I want to feel normal…you know what I mean? I demand more choices than to be strapped into the PMS roller coaster, eating easy mac as if my father’s love were at the bottom of the container OR sweating like a woman praising the Lord at a Georgia tent revival. In August.

so. much. sweat. ya’ll. It is so cold in our house at night that my poor husband is wearing layers to bed.

I pulled my patch off last night and as of today, the day that I am supposed to reapply, I have not re-filled my prescription. I feel like it should’ve treated me better than it did, so I’m walking away until I can figure out what I’m going to do to get through this chapter.

So maybe you know some things? Maybe this is what menoblogging will do for me?

I’m kind of ok being one step closer to Grace & Frankie and ten steps farther away from Carrie Bradshaw & Co.

But fucking hell the sweat. I’m so G.D. stinky I can’t hug anyone without an apology.

Anyways, that’s what’s going on in the Land of Ridiculous. Feel free to throw me some advice. I’m open to all suggestions.

From the super medicated to the goonie goo goo. I’m all in. Sweaty. But in.