and here’s the rundown

• I have no pictures because I got too drunk, my phone was being ridiculous and it dies anyway.
• I look terrible in all other pictures because I never got a chance to finish getting ready. I just decided to get drunk instead.
• When I got home, my ass was sticky.
• We somehow ate a dozen pizzas.
• People loved our pinata full of candy, condoms, lube and booze.
• Everyone had fun.. but it was weird.
• There was less drama than I thought.
• Everything seemed later than it was because the country is so dark.
• Decorations and a deep fryer were broken.
• A Jeep got stuck in a field.
• I didn’t even pee on my tail!
• I made new friends.
• Apparently I was hilarious.
• I lost a ball.
• The stress gave me a cold sore.
• We still have to clean up all decorations and bring them home.
• I saw a shooting star!
• Funny things happened so people took video.
• I learned that I am an over-the-top details sort of person, but not everyone appreciates that. I should not put more effort into a party than the party itself takes.

However, we all need to have that one big crazy party, and I did it. So yay!

in a handful of easy, peasy steps.

Once you read this guide, you’ll kick yourself for not doing it sooner! It will change your life!*

Step 1

This is the hard part. You have to somehow spark the idea that I want to host a party but that your house is the perfect place to do it. If you can accomplish this one, the rest is downhill from here.

Step 2

Work long hours so that your house isn’t quite up to my expectations when it comes time to clean and decorate.

Step 3

Plan a day for said decoration. Let me into your home. Extra points if I show up without your knowledge. Allow me to view the carnage.

Step 4

I clean your house.

**Results may vary.

Thank you for always making me feel beautiful, like it was never a competition and even when I didn’t feel beautiful myself. Somehow, you always made me feel like, when you looked at me, you saw something I would like in the mirror.

And thank you for always respecting my space, my privacy, my anxiety. Thank you for never taking it personally when I needed alone time but, even more..

Thank you for knowing when what I truly needed wasn’t what I thought I wanted. You ignored those arbitrary rules when they weren’t helping me. You made our into a hugging friendship and because of that, I had someone to hug when I really needed it.

I appreciate that you were one of the best friends that I ever had during one of the most difficult times of my life. You never asked for anyone in return, and you never judged the decisions I made, even when they were wrong. Yet, you were always there to listen to my heart’s cries.

Thank you for dinners and movies and drinks and video games and countless minutes spent watching YouTube videos.

Thank you for the late-night phone calls, for putting up with cat pictures and my silly jokes, for loving every dorky part of me. For cuddles when I needed them the most and showing up at my door at midnight to wipe away the tears.

You’ll never know how much I appreciate your easy way, your requests for confirmation, even though we both know I absolutely did want you to continue.

Thank you for honoring my strange requests without judgment and for pushing me far enough to fully be myself.

I am forever grateful for you, the safest place I’ve ever known in my life.

Just one form of strength

The thing about strength is that it doesn’t feel like strength when you’re in the middle of it. Everything feels all mixed-up and wrong. You’re certain that you’re doing the wrong thing and that irreparable harm will come of it. You’re sure that you’re going to lose your job or fuck up your kids are ruin a friendship that you previously thought was bulletproof.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like everything is terrible, but being strong doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like hell.

And it looks like it a little bit after you’re gotten through it. Because one day you’ll realize the worst part of that situation is over. You’ll look around, and you’ll see  the carnage from the landmines, but you’ll also realize that you’ve somehow manage to step on them as you made your way through the field. It’s a little amazing, not understand how you made it through.

It feels like relief. You can let your guard down and take a deep breath, let the tension out of your body.

Until, of course, you have to be strong again. You press on, but it feels like you won’t make it through. If you’re lucky — or if you’re smart — you’ll realize that you’ve been down a similar road before. The end is always just around a curve, even if that curve is terrifying. If you’re less lucky, you forget that you’re persevered before. You blunder forward, sure that this time will be the end of you.

But it’s not true. You will get through it. You do it time and time again because that’s what it means to be humans. That’s the process of living. It’s never easy. It’s often unpretty. It’s usually more outrageous than I could ever imagine, but it’s life.

I imagine that, given a natural death, I will some day have a moment where I let go of the breath that I’ve been holding. I will look back on the minefield that has been my life, and I will realize not only that I made it through but that flowers have grown over the places where I’ve stepped.

Maybe you’ll see that, too.

so that motherfuckers couldn’t wake me up by yelling into or banging on my bedroom window.

Not cool, guys.