If one more person asks me if I’m flipping out – or accuses me of flipping out – I’m actually going to flip the @#$% out.

I’m not flipping out.

I’m as cool as George Clooney.

But if I felt like flipping out, I would have a really good reason…

I’m human.

Suck it – people who think I’m flipping out.

I’m not.

I’m a human being. I live AND love out loud. I make bigger mistakes than most people. So be it.

I don’t care.

I have firmly planted my feet in the muddy water.

It rarely feels good. But it’s where I need to be.

Most people refuse to wade in the mud.

And finally…I’m @#$%ing proud of it.

I’ll leave you with this…

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Everybody has one.

I also have one.

I have far more opinions than a$$holes (like I said, I only have one).

Here are a few of them (my opinions, not my a$$hole)…

Divorce is one of the ugliest legal acts in the book. And, regardless of who you think is or isn’t at fault (because it takes two to sink or swim a relationship), divorce should never be celebrated. Divorce is an ugly verb. And noun. Divorce is ugly all the way around. Divorce is the ugliest.

There are three “sides” to every story. The right side. The left side. And the middle (pretend it’s a side). The middle feels (to me) like the worst place to wade in any/every story. The next time I feel compelled to comment on a situation, I’m going to consider the right, the left AND the middle “sides.”

Life’s too short for low self esteem.

It is truly, and terribly, impossible to wholly love anyone or anything when you don’t love yourself.

The men in my life are teaching me, every day, that less really is more (especially via email and text). It took me a while to stop taking “K” personally (sometimes I still do). At least it was a response. No response is way worse than the 11th letter in the alphabet.

I prefer people that “throw plates.” Not literally. Figuratively – “throw plates.” You can’t “throw” your silence, or the energy it took you to shut down, or passive aggression…at a person. And I’d prefer to be “hit” in the ovaries with a large dish or bowl of the point you’re trying to make.

It’s not easy to be a business owner. Or a business partner. Or a boss. Or a dad. Or a son. Or a husband. Or a friend. Try being all seven. At the same time.

It only takes one opinion/a$$hole to…(insert your own opinion/a$$hole here).

Animals ease pain, even when they have terrible gas.

Common sense should be bottled and sold at Grocery Outlet.

It can be difficult to think before you speak (it’s obviously more difficult for some of us than others). But it can be more difficult to apologize when you DON’T manage to think before you speak.

I deserve the best friends in the world. And I have them. I hope you have them too (not mine, because they’re mine, I hope you have your own). You deserve the best friends in the world. Everyone deserves the best friends in the world.

I would rather be woken up by anybody other than a creditor. Well, almost anybody. Oh, and, it’s never a good idea to simply stop opening your mail. It seems like a better solution than it actually is.

It’s easy to say “mo’ money, mo’ problems” until someone steals your debit card number and the bank has to prevent you from personally accessing your own account. It does not work the same in reverse. “No money, no problems” is totally inaccurate.

It should be illegal to live anywhere in Sacramento without A/C.

It’s important to spell people’s names correctly. They appreciate it. I would argue that it’s even more important to spell people’s names correctly when you call yourself an editor, or journalist. I mean, I get that it’s easy to make mistakes. Mistakes are no big deal. It’s just not easy to call it a mistake when someone spells your name incorrectly – despite the fact that your first and last name are spelled properly in your email address – that you’ve been using to email them – and in the signature line of the emails you’ve been exchanging from the email address that utilizes your (properly spelled) first and last name. Say what you need to say. Use names as you see fit. But don’t spell them wrong when you clearly have access to the correct spelling. Because…you didn’t just spell my name wrong. You spelled my family name wrong. And if the PaulsEn family knew about it, they’d probably “throw plates” at your face.

Today, one of my best friends pointed out that I was mostly angry about the misspelling of my name because it was one of the only things I could actually control at that moment. She was right. She’s always right. It’s irritating. So, I kind of freaked out about my name. I kind of just did it again. I don’t care.

Rainbow Sherbet is the best. And the proper spelling is “sherbet” – not “shebert.” I also spent ten minutes trying to figure out if I should capitalize “sherbet.” I don’t know. Again, I don’t care. That’s a lie. I obviously cared. I just don’t care anymore.

I realize I sound angry, hurt, sick to my stomach…disjointed at best.

It’s because I am. I am all those things right now.

I’m also tougher than I look (and act).

Disjointed won’t always be the case.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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True Story

May 30, 2013

So, this happened…

I did domesticated things. Like, more than one. A handful of domesticated things.

I started to feel criminally insane while searching for the source of a moldy smell (because, as you know, I’m not typically out of my mind). I opened windows, lit candles, took out the trash, did dishes, started smelling furniture and towels and clothes and hardwood floors. No luck. I can still smell it. Note: These domesticated things are separate from the other domesticated things I did. Unbelievable, I know.

I woke up with a leg bathed in bruises (and this picture is only of a few of said bruises).

For the third time, someone sent me a text that compared me to Britney Spears circa 2007. Three different people. Not the same person. Three different people sent me the exact same photo/quote.

I was walking down a very busy street in Sacramento. I had my coffee in one hand and my cell phone in the other. I was talking feverishly about work as I walked. I was in a hurry. And then I realized that my cotton, strapless dress was no longer covering my chest. I don’t even know what else to say about that.

One of my best friends sent me these outstanding texts:

Today the 24 year old campus monitor asked me on a date to On the Border.

That is now my dating life.

Oh also his mom doesn’t mind when he has girls over.

I’ve been clenching my teeth so hard, for so long, over the last few days – that I went to make a phone call and realized my teeth were covered in blood. I guess I really irritated my gums.

I went through the Taco Bell drive-thru and they told me “good morning” before they took my order. I had a bean burrito and nachos before 10 a.m. I swore it was noon.

I think I finally figured out where my current (and extreme) bout of writer’s block stems from. I’m going to take care of it. Then I’ll write the story about it. And celebrate.

One of my other best friends told me she did something “Natalie Paulsen worthy.” She used the words “total crazy person” in the same sentence.

I fell in love with Silver Linings Playbook all over again. Here are just a few of the reasons why…

The only way to beat my crazy was by doing something even crazier. Thank you. I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck. – Pat

There will always be a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like all the other parts of myself. I can forgive. Can you say the same for yourself, @#$%er? Can you forgive? Are you capable of that? – Tiffany

The world will break your heart ten ways to Sunday. That’s guaranteed. I can’t begin to explain that. Or the craziness inside myself and everyone else. But guess what? Sunday’s my favorite day again. I think of what everyone did for me, and I feel like a very lucky guy. – Pat

I made some decisions. Some seriously big ones.

I spent an entire night awake with a giant, stuffed dog. Sleepless didn’t feel so bad with man’s best friend by my side. I also had to rename him for the fourth time. I think this name is going to stick. He’s way nicer than his name, but it still somehow suits him.

I just remembered how carefully I looked after my stuffed animals as a kid. My new stuffed pup was left sideways on the bed. His ear was bent funny and he looked like he was in pain. I felt terrible. So, I sat him upright. This compulsion brought back a very vivid memory of me making all of my stuffed animals sleep on the floor one night (my trundle bed was always packed with stuffed pets). I made them all sleep on the floor. Except for one. I let one sleep in the bed because he had fallen on the floor the night before. I was making it up to him.

A DJ booth, at a nightclub, may have lost power because of me. But I’m pretending that did not happen.

A bro asked me what I was wearing to a meeting. I felt like I had been officially initiated. I felt like I was really one of the bros.

I was mesmerized by a photo of Ashley & Nick’s second child, Reagan. Their newest daughter is just as incredible as Payton, their first (see photo evidence). She is also destined to be a hip-hop mogul of sorts. I’m sure of it.

Insert several stories I am actually not going to write about here.

Yep. That all happened. It only took three days.

And you only know the half of it.

I left the best…err…worst stuff out. That’s all going in the version adapted for film.

Tell me this kind of stuff happens to you too…

 

 

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