Because the Word "Poop" Will Always be Funny

I would just like to start out saying one thing - I was against this from the very start. Yup. This growing up conspiracy? No one can hold it against me – OH no. I said it was a bad idea. And now look at me. Just look what’s become of me. Maybe I was confused for someone else. I don’t know whose genius idea aging was, but I hope they age more rapidly than normal and meet an early death. There, I said it. And I’m sticking my tongue out too.

When did I say I wanted to pay bills, or get a big girl job, or have big girl relationships. And what drunk asshole gave me a credit card? Hello? Really? I couldn’t handle the responsibilities of the 3rd grade, and now I’m being held accountable for my credit score?

And anyone who wants to chime in, “But Christie! You’re but a mere 27! So much life left to live!”. Well, they can just tell that to the credit bureau, my cellulite, my parents, and the employers that won’t hire me, the directors who won’t cast me, and every single one of my body parts that’s decided it’s new favorite direction is, well, south. And I don’t even have kids! Imagine that! Me resenting the little kumquat for the nerve it had slip sliding out of me dragging the nether regions to the netherworlds before it even exists!

If it were up to me, I’d be 12 forever. With a driver’s license. And stiletto heels. And maybe margaritas. But 12 non the less. Always on the verge of getting my period, but never having to even know what a “feminine hygiene” product looks like.

So poop on you aging. Poop on you and all your minions.

The Messy Twisty Girl

This morning I woke up to find an island of wet in between my thighs. No, it’s not quite what one would surmise, or even hope for that matter. Because this is my life. My messy, twisty life and I am that messy twisty girl. When I woke up to the sultry dampness between my legs, I actually silently prayed I had wet the bed. Peed my pants. Good old fashioned toddler incontinence. Anything but the alternative. Never fear. It was the alternative. Grace, the warm feline body I share my bed with now had crawled between my legs to relieve herself. Such is my life. Messy, twisty, Christie. And messy, twisty, Christie took one look at the cat, the pee, and ripped off the sheets and pretended it didn’t happen. Let life piss on my sheets. Piss away! I laugh at your piss! And ponder where I’m going to sleep tonight.

I’d like to think I’m going to figure this out. My finances, my brain, my passion. I will reconcile all of this somehow. I will fall blissfully asleep without the aid of a magic pill to iron out my nerves. And the man that walks over to me at the coffee shop to whisper in my ear that I am obscenely beautiful won’t be wearing a yamaca and prayer shawl. And I won’t feel so messy and twisty inside. Like a sweaty yogini – only without all the OM business. Just the sweat. All curled up in my intestines.

For a split second tonight I doubted myself. Moreover, I doubted my path and that is just not okay with me. I looked around at all my friends getting married, having babies and entering these next progressive chapters of their lives so gracefully and according to plan. My heart did that ever uncomfortable fish out of water maneuver as I gazed at my empty palms. For one moment I felt inadequate; a few laps behind the pack. How unfair, really. When I have resurrected myself from the bowels of crazy and sick to finally pursue my passion with every ounce of my being. If that doesn't deserve a registry at Bed Bath and Beyond, well then shoot.

So I, messy, twisty, Christie choose to celebrate my long term relationship with Joy. With Peace. With Humility, and yes. With Grace.