"Cleanin' Out My Closet"- Thoughts on Eminem, Farrah Fawcett, Japanese Self-Help Books and My College Wardrobe

Remember when Eminem wrote that lovely ballad for his mother called “Cleanin’ Out My Closet?” That was sweet. I won’t repeat the lyrics here because this is a family show, but they were… harsh. Apparently, he hates that song now and doesn’t do it at concerts. Ah, growth. I consider Eminem one of the poet laureates of our generation. I’m dead serious. He rapped the word “barbarous” in one of his biggest hits. BARBAROUS. I mean, boyfriend’s got some word skills. And as I constantly say, if you truly have an exceptional gift with words, it is important that you never use it for evil. Writing a kiss off song about your mom kiiiinda breaks that rule, even if she was a bad mom. Lesson learned, Marshall. But this isn’t a blog about Eminem. It’s a blog about closet cleaning.

Fun fact, when my own mom used to clean out her closet she would sing the only words to that song that she knew, “But tonight, I’m cleanin’ out my clooooset.” Hilarious.

Anyway, this week I cleaned out MY closet. And I have some feelings. Three years ago a book from Japanese author Marie Kondo called “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” became wildly popular. The premise was this: Physically hold every object you own. If you don’t feel a “spark of joy”- give it away. But what happens when you have a strange love/hate relationship with half of the things you own? I love this, but it makes me think of something bad! OR This is the ugliest thing ever and I can’t even use it- but I just love it!

I’m weirdly nostalgic (remember my blog about saving chewed gum?), but to me, cleaning out my closet is also a mind sweep. Clothes are memories to me. And giving them away sometimes feels like selling out the memory.

I think giving away our old clothes presents a two-fold challenge. (Ha!) One problem for many people is fit factor. It can be tough to admit when our bodies have… changed. So we often hold on to that “someday” idea. I say toss it. Even if you love it. Something else will come along to love and you’ll feel more confident in something that actually fits in the meantime.

The second tough part is acknowledging that time has passed. I had a eureka moment this week. Even if you can still wear something, it doesn’t mean you should. I often get the urge to stop women in the street and say, “It’s clear you really loved Farrah Fawcett. She rocked. Charlie’s Angels was the bomb. But you can’t walk around with her hair anymore. It’s time. Come with me!”  (*Together, we frolic to the nearest salon.*)

You know you know people who are still wearing this. Help them. 

But it’s understandable. I think we hold on to things from our happiest times. We try to stop the clock where we were most comfortable, where we most clearly understood the world around us. Maybe we loved the 80s, but trying to look like we did IN the 80s is only going to highlight the fact that we’re out of our element. Our lives, our bodies inevitably change, and not always for the better. So really, shouldn’t our wardrobes and our hairstyles change, too? “You look exactly like you did when you were 17!” Yeah, that’s not always a compliment.

So give up the old and accept the new. But what happens when you encounter the ghosts of donations past? When I donate my clothes I always worry I’ll see them again someday, walking down the street. Like, with a person in them. But still. What if you were just strolling along and you saw someone in your old favorite shirt? Maybe they’d stained it. Maybe they were wearing it with a Make America Great Again hat. Maybe they were hipsters wearing it to be ironic. Uhhh???

OR! What if you go back to the store to discover your fav shirt unclaimed, unloved, hanging next to the mystery-stained khakis and the mothball-eaten plaid blazer in the ONLY FREAKS WOULD WEAR THIS section. Cry, cry, cry.

Do you have a lucky shirt? I don’t, surprisingly. But I DID have a couple of unlucky shirts. Since I’m afraid someone else might catch the bad luck, my plan is to donate them sporadically. I want to get rid of them, but I don’t want to mess up the space/time continuum or anything, so one at a time, friends, they go one at a time.

Some things I gave up this week made me sad, but it was time. I gave away a blue and neon green handkerchief-hemmed halter top I bought when I lived in Hollywood. I loved that shirt. No one else had one. And I donated the polka dotted shirt I wore to my first day of teaching 8th grade. The fuchsia jeans I paired with it went to the donation bin last year. Sad.

Let’s cheer me up with a game! I’ll tell you about a few things I encountered in my closet sweep. You decide if YOU would keep them or dump them. Did they “bring me joy?” Make your guesses and I’ll reveal my donations:

My Forest Hills School District Class of 2001 shirt from the 5th Grade dance in 1994. It has all our classmates’ names on it. Still fits.

The “birthday shirt.” It’s a pink tie-neck halter with metallic pink like, paintbrush swipes on it. I bought it for my 21st bday and then wore it every bday for years. I would have looked bangin' in my birthday suit back then, but I was obsessed with that shirt? (Fun fact: I always wear pink on my birthday. Always. This year I wore blue. Not a great birthday. Next year pink makes a comeback.)

Do these jeans make me look fat?

The cast T-shirts from every show I’ve ever worked with. Easily 25 shirts in this lot. We should start doing pants or something…

My jam pants. Hey! Shu’up! They came back a few years ago and were really funky if you wore them right! I always paired them with a black tank and black patent leather heels. It was cute, ok?

My hair dyeing outfit. Yes, I have a hair dyeing outfit. It’s black. Shocker.

My collection of sparkly tank tops. Mostly metallic and used for New Years Eves. Full frontal sequins.

My black leather pants. Very rock and roll. At certain points… sometimes… I think…

THAT shirt that I wore on THAT night in ‘06. Green. It was one of the greatest nights of my life! It was one of the saddest nights of my life! I have a picture of that momentous night. Just one. From an old disposable Walmart camera that my cousin happened to click at the exact right moment. Sigh.

Some of my booty. Ok, not, like, my BOOTY, but... you know what I mean. 

Ready to play?

Of course I kept the Class of ’01 shirt. Do you know me?

Birthday shirt? Kept. Sucker.

Cast shirts? Kept. Had to!

Jams? Ditched those.

Hair dyeing outfit, kept it. You think I’m covering grays in any other ensem? False.

Sparkly tank tops. No. Ick.

Leather pants… kept. You never know!

THAT green shirt. Kept. You’ll pry that thing out of my cold, dead hands, thank-you-very-much.

You would probably have tossed all that stuff. Because you have common sense and control over your sentimentality. Oh well. Some of those things (some, not all- remember, I’m a rebel, ok?) truly bring me joy. And the rest, well, when I’m ready to let them go, I will. After all… (hold on, I’ma get profound…) the proverbial “fabric of our lives” is actually the people we love who create our memories alongside us. And sometimes our joy is not held within the fibers of our favorite old clothes, so much as it is within the moments those clothes are souvenirs from. That, and the more stuff you let go of, the more room you have for whatever comes next.      -Kelly

Life- aka YOUR Personal "Choose Your Own Adventure" Book

Remember being a kid and fooling your parents into thinking you could read because you knew every word to your bedtime storybooks? But then they were sneaky and turned two pages ahead instead of one to test you because they doubted your genius? Rude. 

Bedtime stories were still fun whether you could read or not- and then something came along to make them better! The "Choose Your Own Adventure" Books. 'Member those?

They went something like this: 
Cinderella can’t go the the ball unless she finishes her chores. But there's not enough time for her to do them and make her own ballgown. What should she do?

Flip to page 4 if Cinderella needs to get her crap done first, then go to the biz-all in rags like a damn peasant. 

Flip to page 7 if Cinderella should make a slinky tube dress and some Chucks and sneak out like the troubled teen she obviously is.

Flip to page 9 if Cinderella should get those little mice that wear clothes to make the dress for her while she wastes time singing to her reflection and polishing the floor. 

(Aside: Pretty sure Disney wouldn't get away with naming a cat "Lucifer" in this day and age. Kinda intense, Walt. ["Roosafee not funny. Roosafee mean!" Even... demonic, some might say...] Ok, I'll get on with it.) 

Back at the moral dilemma/tri-pronged plot pitchfork (symbolism much?), YOU, ya lil rascal you, as a young reader undoubtedly fit into one of three "Choose Your Own Adventure" Reader Archetypes:

1. Perfectionist- You picked the *correct*choices because you KNOW how this story ends - why derail it from it's one true course? "What is the point of these books?"

2. Sadist- You were like, how can we really eff Cinderella up today? What horrific traumas can we arrange to befall her this time? "Gah! I love these books! Muahahaha!"

3. Rebel- You were certain that you could take the risky detours and STILL make it to the happy ending. "These books make me feel decisive- there's always a Plan B!"

Yeaaaah, our parents hopefully paid REALLY close attention to what route we chose as kids and how we rationalized our decisions. Because actual life is nothing but a long-term "Choose Your Own Adventure" Book- and I'm willing to bet you STILL fall into one of those categories. I'd bet, like, all my money- which is not a lot of money. Wanna know why I don't have a lot of money? Cause I ain't a #1 perfectionist, friends!

Now it's time for you to play along! If you want to know what kind of character I AM- AND hear a funny story, keep reading below this picture. If you don’t care, (rude) scroll to the picture of a lady in her unmentionables. 

What? "But Kelzy-Kelz, you said you're a super perfectionist!" Oh, I am now! Wanna know why? Trying to reroute the detours in my youthful "Rebel" days!

Yeah, I said it. I'm a rebel. (*Insert switchblade flip here*)

Well, I'm NOT a sadist! Let me give you an example of the first time I knew that I was too soft for the hard knock life: Once, when I was little, my parents were discussing “Bestform”- a local sewing factory.

"What do they sew?" I, the sweet lil evesdropper I was, innocently asked.

"Underwear," my dad answered.

*Cue my unstoppable waterworks.*

Mom: "Why are you crying?"

Me: "Because people make underwear!!!!!"

Dad: "What? You don't want to make underwear when you grow up?"

Me: *cries harder*

At roughly 3 or 4, I found it crushing that someone's life achievement was making underwear for people to put their dirty butts in. DEVASTATED over this.

Every time we passed Bestform, I cried.

Every time someone mentioned Bestform, I cried.

Every time the Bestform people came in to pick up a lunch order- dead. Sobbing. Couldn't handle it.

My parents found this hilarious. But even as a kid, I felt everyone should have a legacy and feel important to the world. I assumed they didn’t, and I was sad. Sitting at a sewing machine stitching tighty whiteys 40 hours/wk just to put food on the table… I guess I wanted everyone to be the POTUS or something…

Maybe these workers loved their jobs, but who picks "underwear maker" in their Choose Your Own Adventure story? Or is it a consequence of a Rebel CYOA gone awry? Know what I mean?  Think about that... (Sometimes I wonder if I should be strapped to a bed...) 

Too sensitive for sadism… also too disastrous for perfectionism. I can't successfully operate an umbrella or a set of keys. I shouldn't be trusted with breakable items. I refuse to ever make a bed. And if the most far-fetched plot twist ever is gonna happen in someone's story, it'll be mine. 

They better pay "like something" at least! Gonna cry, gonna cry...

You are here because you either rudely skipped my personal adage on life on my own blogpage (the humanity!) or because you kept reading. If you’d like to find out what kind of CYOA character YOU are, continue, if not and you’d rather read about regretting the “wrong paths”- jump to the picture of the CYOA Book.

But can we take detours in life and still get a happy ending? Well, I hope so, because there are times I've chosen an adventure and led myself straight into the woods. And times life switched up my track. And, like, two and a half times that where life randomly just dropped me out the hatch of a 747 going 900mph at 40,000 feet without a parachute- and I have NO idea how I survived it. But it's starting to look like I did. Kinda impressive. I'm like daggone Hemingway over here...

Who are you?

Rebel: "Oh, the grass looks super green over there by that treacherously steep cliff! I'm sure it will be fine!"

Sadist: “I should probably take my blindfold off and sober up before driving this semi, but, oh well.”

Perfectionist: “Sing with me, children! Ray, a drop of golden suuuuuun!”

Whatever you chose and yes, some of it IS inherent (like our mortal sadness for panty-seamstresses), but overall you chose what kind of character you are- Do you like your story? If it ended tomorrow, did you get that happy ending? Moreover, can people create the perfect story for themselves or are we pawns on a pre-destined path?

“What if...”
Hold up. Think of EVERY MAJOR DECISION in your life so far. What if you’d done the opposite? How would your life be different? Would it be better? Would you change it? Or would you leave it?

Candidly, I think it's nuts that most of the life-altering decisions we make in our lives happen between about 15 and 30. I'm pretty sure we have no business making any big decisions at all before age 30, but then again, maybe it's learning from those mistakes that leads us to growth and wisdom. 

I must have dozed off during the history lesson about the Union troops fighting monkeys in a bio-dome... Better brush up.

You are here because you either kept reading or have a lot of regrets you’d also like to talk about. Cool. If you’re a lil Mary Sunshine who never did anything to regret and you want to jump to the part where I do the symbolic life-advice wrap up thingy, skip to the picture of the shoe.

I used to be all, "I have no regrets!" I had my sadist days, but I don't regret my wild phase in college or my teenage years or any of that. Great times. And for the record- if I could go back to high school, I might actually DO all the crap the rumor mill SAID I did! If you're going to be gossiped about, might as well give them fire for the smoke.

No. It's the DIDN'Ts that I regret now. All the ways I boxed myself in, painted myself into a corner. It's all the ways we, the "rebels", are too afraid to make a sadist's decision, so we make the perfectionist’s one instead, hoping to please everyone in the process. We take the "safe" route. The sensible career path, the gotta-be-married-with children-by-30 express route, the "good girls don't have pink hair or tattoos or body piercings" rule. We think it's the path of least resistance, which sounds good, right?

The older I get, the more I realize that of all the paths I've taken in life, all the pages I’ve flipped to, the one of "least resistance" was definitely an option, however, it wasn't always MY path. And sometimes, I can admit now, I did myself a disservice when I followed it. 

I know some people who have made all the "right" decisions in life and their world looks like an old black and white TV show, and perfectionists who are totally rocking life right now. Conversely, I know some “total screw ups”- people who didn't live ‘til their 30th birthdays because they couldn't control the "now". And I know some unconventional people who are doing great and absolutely put the color in my world. Who's to say who's right?

And now for the finale- I like to call it “Where was a going with all this?” If you’d like to learn some great knowledge about great life, keep reading!!! If not (rude) then you can click away from this page now, but ONLY if you LIKE and SHARE this post on Facebook, Instagram AND Twitter and then promise you didn’t skip the story about me crying over people making underwear. If you did, start over. Oh, and if you stop here, you gotta go find your own way to change the world today? K? Thanks so much.

I guess the whole Chose Your Own Adventure thing really just starts with genre. Is your life a romance novel? A how-to manual? A horror script? Lol. All that matters is what label YOU want to put on your story and how you accept each twist and turn along the way.

For me, imagery, setting and plot and all that have always taken a back seat to the characters themselves- and there have been lots of characters in MY story. Some I shouldn't have tried to save from their own sadistic plot twists. Some I couldn't keep on the same page with me. And some I desperately, futilely try everyday to write back into my narrative.

But in the end of the day- or at the end of the page, as the case may be- I'm still an open book, unsure of which adventure I will choose next. And if there's ever a time when you don't know where to turn, I suggest you go back to that author's page, read your byline and remind yourself that you are the only one who writes your story.

The Green Locket Book's THIRD ANNIVERSARY GIVEAWAY!

"Do you ever wait for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always wait for the longest day of the year and then miss it!" Daisy Buchanan of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald 

I find that there are a million things to be thankful for this week, the least of which not being the longest day of the year (which I DO always watch for) and the anniversary of the publication of my first book, "The Green Locket: Legends and Lessons from Near and Far." Three years ago today the greatest dream of my whole entire life was actualized when I received the message that this dream was in fact an official reality. Holding the very first copy in my hands was a feeling unlike any other I've ever had... Scratch that. 

Fun fact: When I found out the book was published and was going to print, my first phone call went to my mom. Let's just say girlfriend can on-line shop faster than anyone else you know and she also had expedited shipping. So, guess who got their copy of my book delivered first? Yep. Not me. Her shopping prowess even beat the copy the publisher sent me, and I was reduced to asking my mom what it really looked and felt like in person. Womp. So if you're looking for the first edition, I don't have it. Call my mom. 

That was three years ago this very week and to commemorate the anniversary of such an exciting occasion, I've decided to give away a few copies of my book to those of you who have been so wonderfully supportive of my work all along. I will personalize them, of course, with a special message and send them to you myself with love. All you have to do to be entered is to click this link and like my Facebook page (if you already liked it then you're ahead of the game!) and share my book giveaway post. Later this week, I will select three winners and message them for shipping details! 

As excited as I am to celebrate the third anniversary of The Green Locket, I'm even more excited to report that my second book, The American Locket is nearing completion. This book, still a book of short stories, but vastly more grown-up than its predecessor, has pushed my writing and creative abilities far beyond the limits I thought I had. I have never written anything more personal, more revealing, more raw or more challenging. I've also never written anything more "me." The writing process is in its final stages now and editing is on the horizon. No single venture in my life has ever been more important to me and I cannot wait to share this with all of you. I humbly thank you for the bottom of my heart for your support and I look forward to keeping you entertained and interested with the second book - the latest chapter of my adventure! Happy Longest Day of the Year, Happy Birthday Green Locket and Cheers to you, friends, for staying with me through every moment of this incredible journey! All my love! -Kelly

My Birthday Blog: The Only Kind of Work You Should Do On Your Birthday

I turned 34 years old this morning, and I have a secret to tell you. I've never gone to work- even for an hour- on my birthday. And for every year up until this one, that’s been a coincidence. Does that make me really lucky? Or just a total brat? How have I managed to get to 34 without ever having to do anything more strenuous than wake up and celebrate myself on my birthday? Wanna really think I'm ridiculous? I only ever had to go to school on my birthday one time, for one hour. It was that Blizzard of '93 school year when we'd had enough snow days to keep us in session until June 15. (It was the last day of 4th grade and my mom brought pizza from the Tavern at 8AM because it was likely going to be the only time I'd ever celebrate my birthday in school. Thanks, ma.

After school I got two bachelor’s degrees, spending seven (non-consecutive) total years in college, summer semesters included. Never had class on my birthday. Later I became a teacher. Never had school or in-service or any of that on my birthday either. This year I would have had to work, (what? NO.) so naturally, I requested off- and actually got it. (Score.) You probably still think that's prime diva behavior. After all, the world doesn’t stop just because it’s my birthday. Um, yeah, I disagree with that. Wait! Hear me out! I’ve got TWO REASONS if you read to the end, I promise! I have never “worked” on my birthday, and neither should you. Stick with me here...

I currently have four actual paying jobs and two long term volunteer positions (because I'm nice like that.) That's like six jobs. I say “no” to absolutely nothing (except vacations!). I’m the yes-ingest “yes man” that ever yes-ed. Consequently, there are zero hours left in my day to do anything other than juggle all these projects and obligations. When I DO relax, I feel guilty. So when my birthday rolls around - you can't have it. It's mine. I don't do a lot of stuff for myself, and this is one thing I don't let go of so easily. It’s a day I take to reward and appreciate all the things I’ve accomplished in the previous 365 days. And for me, it’s not particularly negotiable. You still think I’m ridiculous.

Do you work on your birthday? Do you actually celebrate it? ON the day? YOU NEED TO. I'm dead serious on this. Can we just stop this nonsense of numbing down our lives in fear of disrupting our routines? If the anniversary of your soul joining this world (and all of our lives, you wonderful you!) becomes just another “work day/carpool afternoon/garbage day/bill deadline/dinner at the kitchen table/sitcoms in bed” kind of a day, then you're not appreciating yourself enough, and your family and friends aren't either if they let your day fall into such complacency. Can I be rude for a second? Guys, that's just not good enough for you. This is your LIFE! The only one you get! You deserve so much more than mediocrity on a day dedicated to you. You’ve lasted all these years and lived through so much. Why the *&%$@# aren't you celebrating yourself?

Those people who are like, "Well my birthday's Monday, but I work, and then we have soccer and it's our turn to drive, and it's ___________ (insert random family member’s name)'s birthday Friday, so we're just going to go to Applebee’s next Thursday to celebrate both." 

Listen, sister. Did you just hear yourself? You just put 900 people in front of you. Fine for a typical day- it’s what we do when balancing careers and family. Not good enough for your birthday though. Plan ahead. I promise you won’t be sorry.

-No money? Save.

-Kids? Get a sitter (However much you love them “to the moon and back” [oh glory]- you need a night out to remember you’re a person. Don’t take them!)

-Work? You’ll probably still disagree, but you should truly plan ahead to arrange the day off or (*if your work is more important to you than you are to yourself and more important to you than the people who would want to celebrate with you, then at least leave a little early or something. “Kelly, that was just mean manipulative wording.” Yep. Not sorry. Remember, you owe this to yourself!) *So you're THE only on-call cardiologist in the entire hospital for that day? Well, maybe they literally can't survive without you. But shame on whoever scheduled that! And on you for approving it! It’s very likely you have SOME say in your schedule. Make this happen!

If you do, it will recharge your depleted batteries, and that’s something that keeps you running to do all you do for everyone else. Birthdays are like a paycheck for the soul. You’ve already earned it, so cash in!

So what DO I recommended doing with that selfishly taken day off? So, when I do nice things for myself, it fills up my cup. But when I do nice things for others, it makes my cup “runneth over.” Is there anything that feels better than when hundreds of your social media friends send you a steady stream of thoughtfully-worded birthday love all day and night? You read all their messages, and you’re like, “Dang, I feel loved!” But how do we pass the buck? I’ve already talked about how we’ve stopped letting ourselves receive, but we’ve stopped letting ourselves give as well.

It’s June. The year is halfway up. Wait, this is my favorite!

There are 12 months in a year, divide in half. 6 = June.

June has 30 days, divide in half. 15.

My birthday, June 15, is exactly the middle of the year. (Ok, that’s fuzzy math in the whole 365-day scheme of things, AND it makes me sound bratty again, but let’s go with it.)

How did you spend the first half of the year? Is it how you hope to spend the next half? Unless we cure cancer or save the planet from nuclear war, after we’re gone, our careers mean next to nothing. So is your “work” really the work you hope to do on this planet? That being said, maybe we shouldn’t entirely “take off work” for our birthdays. Maybe we should take a day off from that job we have to do some REAL work.

Wouldn’t it feel like a gift to yourself to spread the happiness and appreciation you’re now letting yourself feel on your birthday? Buy a $5 gift card on our drive-thru pick-ups and pass it back to the next car with the message to pay it forward. Reach out to someone we know is lonely and remind them how great we think they are. Thank all the people who constantly support us. Donate to a charity. Volunteer our precious time. We all have people in our lives who are going through a hard time now. When was the last time you reached out? We all know someone who has literally lived through a hell we could hardly imagine. Have you told them you were proud of them? We all have someone we miss, someone we love, someone we feel slipping away… why, oh why, don’t we reach out and tell them about it? Why not celebrate in a hundred ways that day for others and ourselves? Eat the cake, relax, enjoy the friends and family you’re usually too busy to enjoy, but on a day when others usually give to us, let’s go the extra mile to give to both ourselves and then to others as well. Guys, it’s so cheesy, but the fact that you were born was a miracle, and you can be someone else’s miracle ANY TIME YOU CHOOSE. And we all need a miracle sometimes… Maybe our birthdays are a great time to start. If I hear from you today, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, and in the meantime, I’ll be celebrating and doing the “work” I know matters most. Cheers to 34!   –Kelly

This is the single greatest piece of advice I've ever been given. Mother Teresa and all the hope you'll ever need. 

Stuff Our Moms Say: A Different Kind of Family Album

Oh, you love your mom? Name three of her albums.

Ah, early summer. It’s just after Mother’s Day and just before Father’s Day- a stretch of veritable parental appreciation celebrations. If you have parents, which many humans do, what are the stand-out pearls of wisdom that they’ve etched into your brain over the years through sheer repetition? Mine sure have well-worn sayings, and my friends’ also do, so why not celebrate parents and share their wise words? After all, mama always said sharing is caring.

Remember in the 90s when you’d say to someone in a Nirvana t-shirt, “I love Nirvana,” and they would haughtily respond with “Oh, so you love Nirvana? You love Kurt? Love Nirv- name three of their albums then!” And you’d be all, “Well, I didn’t say I was a Nirvana archivist. I just meant… nevermind.” (Get it?)

This past Mother’s Day, I saw the funniest thing circulating online. The week prior to, a University of South Carolina professor cleverly tweeted, “Oh, so you love your mom? Name three of her albums.” And half the internet replied with adages their moms had said over the years “until she was blue in the face.” It was hysterical. So naturally, I put together my own family sayings album and asked my friends for theirs. The result is pretty magical. Check it out.

Fun Fact: My own mom’s triple platinum-selling 1995 debut smash, Well, I’m Not Her Mother (I’m Yours), was a veritable parade of chart-toppers.

There are classics collaborations featuring my mom AND YOURS on duets like…

“Do I Need To Get Your Father?”

“I Told You To Clean This Room, Now I’m Getting A Garbage Bag” (explicit version)

“11:06 Is Not 11:00” (#1 for five consecutive years in a row!)

“Why Don’t The Other Parents Ever Drive?”

“I Could Time You With A Calendar”

“It Ain’t Funny and It Ain’t Cute”

…and the eternal “They’re Just Jealous Of You (feat. The Principal)”

She’s also recorded some original workaday anthems for the blue-collar set such as…

“Did Anyone Make This Pizza?”

“I Can’t (I Have Payroll)”

“Bigger Things To Worry About Than Your Pickles”         

“Who Cut This Whole Pie?”

 …and the chart-topping “Nobody Got The Fish Out"

Multiple other members of my extended family have even sat-in for a set or two on songs like…

“Is That What You’re Going To Wear?” aka “The Walking-Out-The-Door Song”

“It’ll Be Better Before You’re Married”

“Ode To WARSHington DC”

“But Do You Want Your Children To Look Like Him? (Think It Over)”

“Four Boxes Of Spaghetti, Two Loving Hearts”

"I Guaran-DAMN-tee It"

“Suite: Songs To Red Up A Room To”

“Newspaper: I Spent The Extra Three Bucks On The Gift”

“You Think You’re Tough? (I’m Your Huckleberry)”

“Sweet 23: Won’t Anybody Marry You?” (feat. Gramma and The Aunts)

“Go Outside And Practice Falling Down, I’ll Be Right Out”

“Look! It’s My Fourth Prettiest Granddaughter”

“Golden (Rule) Girls”

 “Eat That Or I’ll Mail It To The Poor Korean Orphans” (feat. Actual Envelopes)

“Everyone Puts On A Little Weight Now And Again”

“The Kitty-Honey Shuffle”

“Want Me To Cut It Off (If It Hurts That Bad)?”

“Birthday Money (I’m Sick Of Paying You People To Be Alive)”

…and the remastered Italian classic “Lickins With The Wooden Spoon” (feat. Everyone)

Now, my friends also weighed in on their family’s collaborations and solo albums. Here were some of their biggest smashes, from other genres.

Country

“I Brought You Into This World, I Can Take You Out”

“Don’t You Go Takin’ Any Wooden Nickels”

“Let’s Get Putzed Tonight”

“I’ll Give You Something (To Cry About)”

“Granny’s Anthem: Fat, Sassy and Sexy"

 “Guess What (There’s A Dead Horse In The                                                                                            Tub)”

 …and the unforgettable “I’ll Put Lumps On You Faster’n You Can Rub ‘Em”

Easy Listening/Crooners

“Because I Said So”

“Hand Me My Pocketbook”

“God Only Gives You What You Can Handle”

“Capiche?”

 “Wondering n’ Wandering”

“Buckle Up, Baby, Please”

…and from the other side of the pond, comes the Norwegian-translated Scandinavian single track “It Looks Like A Bombed Whore House In Here” – Solid gold, if not totally easy-listening.

Rap/R&B

“Can’t Never Could”

“Say Your Prayers”

“Playin’ The Field Like A Field Playa Should”

“Buncha Lil Shitzers” (feat. Lil Shitz)

…and the club bumpin’ title track “Too Big For My Britches”

And, admittedly, I’ve got my own album. Expect tunes such as these to be flying up the charts any day now!

“What Else Is New In America?”

“Silence Is Golden… And So Is Chardonnay”

“Cats and Anaphylaxis” 

“Not Trying To Bother You (But...)” (the full rock opera)

“Rumor Mill Comin’ Round Again”                  

“I Can’t Even”

“Thanks For The Update”                               

“I Smell A Blog (Get My Perfume)”

“I Might Spiral”                                                

“How Many Carbs Are In Shiraz?”

“Pretty Sure He Hates Me”(the 2017 remix)  

“Yep, 33 And No Kids”

What’s the point of this exercise? Well. Words are one of the most lasting legacies we leave. As a teacher, I’ve had kids quote back things I’ve said to my complete shock. Uhh, did I really say that? How did they even remember it? But they did. As children, we absorbed the words of our grandparents and parents like little sponges. As parents and family members we will leave the same long-term impression. When you speak to a child, you’re speaking to the future, and you’re casting your words into the future with them. Very important.

Writing this post has helped me remember people I miss and the words they said that I can still carry with me. It’s helped me learn which sentiments shape who my friends are. What a gift to be able to share these words of wisdom, hilarity and charity with friends, family and all manner of readers! You know, we might roll our eyes at the things others say because they seem trite or antiquated or inapplicable, but the most important part is the listening. AND the responding. You know, we get all high on our own horses when it comes to the words of others, and the most detrimental thing we can do is not respond at all. If that person- who said something you didn’t like, didn’t understand, didn’t care about, didn’t know how to react to- was gone tomorrow, you’d wish you’d said SOMETHING. And remember, that could happen tomorrow. There are just no guarantees in life. Imagine if someone went out of this world hurt over being ignored by you. Or thinking their words didn’t matter- to you. Could you live with that?

Use your words to create your legacy.

Remember others’ words to continue theirs.

Never let anything go unanswered.

And always, ALWAYS listen to mom and dad.

Happy summer to all the mommas and dads out there!

                                                                                                                  -Kelly

Insane In The Membrane: A Perfectionist's Tale

My eyes look all crinkly. My chin is broken out. My mom hates when I take close selfies. I could go on...

Oh, this is going to be a tough one… Guys, I'm scared. Here goes…

Hi. My name’s Kelly. And I’m a perfectionist.

Well, that sure sounds like a very responsible and prudent personality complication to have, you might say- but it’s actually kind of debilitating. How so? Well, perfectionism is, at least for me, rooted in some serious anxiety. Listen to this mess…

I don’t abbreviate at work because I’m afraid it could be viewed as a sign of laziness.

I don’t take the free samples of things at the grocery store. (People will think I’m being cheap!)

Chipped nail polish will consume my attention for the entire day. I’m internally freaking out until I can fix it.

I put garnishes on meals I make for myself to eat alone. (I know...trust me. I know.)

If another driver flips me off, I think about it for hours. Sometimes I cry. (They think I’m a bad driver! And they were SO mean.)

They're watching "White Christmas" - so pure.

I know what you’re thinking: WTH? Don’t worry about that crap! Live your life! Oh, I’d LOVE to. But the fact is, I REALLY care what people think of me (and people who say they don’t care AT ALL are lying! At least a little!). But I care to a fault. To the point where I’ve made myself terrified of failure. If you also set impossibly high standards or if you can relate to the constant cycle of striving for perfection and coping with the inevitable dissatisfaction that follows, this is the blog post for you!

Perfectionism is like a disease, and I own up to having it. Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that perfectionism is the mask that shame wears. If we can appear flawless, then maybe the perfection outside can mask all the stuff that feels wrong inside- likely residual emotional junk that's the result of rejection somewhere along the line. My logic: If no one ever sees my flaws, do I really have flaws at all? But it gets more complicated than that…

Did this blog just get heavy or is it just me? That's heavy, that is. Because be it physically or emotionally, that probably wouldn't be acceptable... Uhhh. Somebody hold me. 

I have acceptance problems, too. Got a “B” on an English paper? Some boy doesn’t like me back? Spotted a wrinkle? Misspelled something? Made a work mistake? Not possible. I reject your reality and substitute my own. This makes me sound egotistical and self-absorbed, but when this stuff happens, the walls cave in on me for a minute and that anxious little voice in the back of my mind says, “See? You failed. And everyone knows it.” I know we all have this voice, but for some of us, it doesn’t whisper- it screams.

Long ago, my dad- who died when I was 14- would say, “Kel-Bel, you can have anything you want in life if you just work hard enough.” I hung on every word. I’ve always been a super hard-worker, so that was just a technicality. What's that you say, father?  I can actualize ALL my dreams?! It was an incredibly motivating piece of advice, said with the very best intentions. However, these days I respectfully disagree. You can’t have some things, no matter how hard you work. And damn, this concept really messes with me… Daddy was supposed to be right about everything...

But. You can’t make someone love you. You can’t stay young/healthy forever. Some people can’t have babies. Or beat cancer. Or avoid unfathomable tragedies. Some people can’t overcome the hurt/guilt/addiction/pain holding them back in life. It’s not fair! Which brings me to my mom’s opposing advice: “Well, who in the hell ever told you life was going to be fair?”

Undeniably, we all walk through life haunted by the scars of our pasts. Some of us try WAAAYY too hard to overcome this. I fall into that category, but I still hear my dad’s voice: If I just work hard enough…

I can't. 

I can still be 120 lbs again. I’ll start that Victoria Beckham purse shrimp diet! Tomorrow. ;)

I can still mend this estranged friendship! Neither one of us is dead yet! Where’s my phone? I’ve only had about four glasses of wine. Now is the perfect time!

I’m going to be a writer whose work is read all over the world. I just have to make a more concise schedule! Produce more! Do more!

I can save up for Botox! Is it bad for you? Maybe I should wait until after I have kids…

And as soon as I’m a prolific, world-renowned wrinkle-free 120lb. writer with perfect relationships with all my friends and family, I WILL BE SET!

Oof. I’ve said this before: if my happiness is contingent upon perfection, I’ll never be happy. I recognize this, yet I can’t stop letting my fears and self-doubt lead to my perfectionism, and letting my perfectionism rob me of my present happiness. It ain’t easy being a super-sensitive perfectionist workaholic! Especially if you’re a thinker, like me.

Will the perfect Slim Shady please stand up?

Fun fact: You’ve never seen your own face. You’ve only seen reflections and photos. What if your perception of your appearance isn’t actually how you actually look at all? What if the hair color I call black is actually blonde? And my perception is different than the rest of the worlds’? And I don’t actually understand the concept of color the way other humans do? You see me as a “blonde” and I see “blondes” as having black hair, and oh-my-gosh-guys-am-I-freaking-blonde-please-don’t-let-that-be-true! (See? I even exhaust myself?) Anyway. Perception.

Perfectionism is pointless, because despite my efforts, I cannot cultivate (with my words, achievements or appearance) the opinion you have of me. I’m one of those people that oh 85% of people like (in my own perception… what???) And the 15% who don’t like me HATE my guts. And it destroys me when people don’t like me, because I’m trying so hard to MAKE everyone like me! "And if I just work hard enough, I can have…"

I don’t know what you think of me. You don’t know what I think of you. So why try so hard? Because I’ve not yet accepted that it’s okay to fail. To have strengths and weaknesses. To not save the world. To be average. Even as I type this, I don’t believe it…

Oh my gah. Can you please be more dramatic? 

Confession: I’ve been dying my hair black for the past 20 years, because I was convinced at 13 that brown hair was too average. I wanted to be “striking” and “exotic” and “special” and… I guess… I didn’t think I could be those things just as I was. Maybe you’re like me and you live for praise, reinforcement and the public acknowledgement that you’re enough. Or maybe you can go to Walgreens in sweatpants and no makeup and hand a box of tampons directly to a cute checkout guy. You’re my hero, FYI, but I’m not that girl. And I wonder how those who are can sleep at night. I know. I'm messed in the head for that one...

You know, I read that the suicide rate for self-proclaimed perfectionists is very high. We don’t ask for help or say no or admit when we’re overwhelmed… because what would you think of us? Apparently, perfectionism is an ugly trait that is often passed from parent to child, too. Yikes.

I guess I’m just a work in progress. Maybe you are, too. Maybe we should try embracing our flaws. Relinquish control over our images and egos. I’m not promising I can, but I know it’s the fastest way to be happier in the present. And it’s vital to remember that perfection shouldn’t be the goal. Happiness should be.

If you’re still reading, thank you. I like to keep my blogs funny and insightful, and I promise to go back to that next week…

Wait… Do you like how I just felt like I had to apologize and make promises so that you don’t think I’m boring or over-emotional or crazy and stop reading my blogs? Maybe this should be my first attempt at not apologizing so much… Okay, I’m going to try:

Guys, I hope you liked this one, but if not, I’m still not sorry I shared this part of myself because it was cathartic and kinda freeing in a delightfully selfish way, and maybe I’ll do it again some day.

*Deep breath* Hmm. That felt pretty darn good. 

You can be a work-in-progress, too. :)

Mixed CDs and Disposable Cameras: It’s Time To Get A Life Again. Literally.

Let's think back to, oh, roundabout the G.W. Bush Administration when we last had a social life. What happened? Well, while putting together my calendar last week, I realized I was in deep. I had signed myself up for a “get together” every single night of the week. I panicked. I cursed myself. I cooked up ways to back out! Surely I HAD to have at least one night to “relax” after work! I haven’t gone out this much in years! How would I survive?

But I went. Dinners! Drinks! Laughs! Tears! Catching up! I got out of my ponytail, put down my laptop and lost sleep in the name of socialization. To be honest, it was kind of a revelation for me. Why? Let’s go back in time to a bygone era of regrettable fashion choices, embarrassing drunken exploits and free-range dating. (*Picture me doing that Wayne’s World time travel thing…*)

Throwback. Dreamboat Pants watched as this pic was taken. He watched. That belt. Oh, kill me now. Why?!

Remember when you were 18, 21, 25… and you basically forgot what your living room even looked like? There was always a party to go to, a bar to chill in or a supa-fine “hottie” to chase around? Even the most introverted introverts still went out a lot in this phase. Fast-forward a few years. Hey you, in the sweatpants. Remember spending a Wednesday night in pants with a zipper? Barely? Okay, how about the days when you willingly left your house after 8PM? Struggling there, too? ‘Member when there was no Netflix? No Facebook? No YouTube. What did we DO? Let me refresh your memory…

When we went out, our purses contained disposable cameras and our Nokia. (We waited weeks to see if our eyes were open in our primitive selfies. The humanity!)

When we went out, we had giant cases in our cars containing every CD we owned. And we made mixes for EVERY possible occasion. (And when someone jacked our cars and we lost them, [and a cup-holder full of change for the Turnpike] it felt like someone stole our very souls. Damn.)

So much bootcut. So much brown. Delia's, of course.

When we went out, we wore boot-cut/bell-bottomed jeans with frayed hems that got wet and salt-stained in the winters when we trekked across campus or the mall parking lot or the bar crawl. And we wore a lot of brown. Why? Why did we wear that much brown?

When we went out, we had that one song that was OUR song, and when it came on, all our friends would be like, “OHHHHHH!!!” and point at us and dance and grab our raised up hands high in the air. There was fist pumping. I’m not condoning it; I’m just admitting it.

When we went out, we had a signature drink. And if we saw it or smelled it today we would immediately ralph. Stop. (Aside: Never chase Jagermeister with Sunny Delight, guys. I care about you. Don’t.)

When we went out, we drove embarrassing cars. But hey, at least we had cars. I had a 1994 red Dodge Intrepid with gold wheels. Was I a rapper? Was I a grandma? The Intrep would never tell…

When we went out, our lives were soap-operas. We created (and then drowned in) the drama that our own poor choices elicited. It was exhausting.

What in the fresh hell were we wearing?

When we went out, we dated losers. Our friends dated losers. It was pretty fun. Until it wasn’t. And that one that got away? Damn. That still hurts. Stiiiiiillllll hurrrrrrrtttttts.

But more than anything, when we went out… WE WENT OUT. Can someone please tell me: Why did this end? At what point did we lose that desire? Why do we suddenly love laying in our beds without make-up or pants binge-watching shows and scouring the interwebs for whatever junk our online “friends” are posting about?

So one day we all acquired low-key social anxiety disorder and gave up? When we DO make plans and people cancel, we’re overjoyed! What the….? So you like your sleep. Ok. You never have a baby sitter. Fine. You still have enough student loan bills to wallpaper your kitchen with. Understandable. But not all social interactions require you to give up sleep, money and time with your spawn. Admit it. That stuff’s not the problem. Your comfort-zone is.

It may be inarguable that the lessons we learned from our so-called glory days shaped our lives with the wisdom they helped us glean, but I gotta know: Is a loss of desire for (in-person) social interaction a side effect of age? Why does going out feel like such a chore these days? I was alarmed by my own desire to flake out on my favorite people just because my week got overwhelming. So I forced myself to keep every date. Did I miss my leggings? Did I stare at the clock all night pining for my bed?

No, actually. My cousin and I laughed loud enough to nearly be kicked out of Starbucks. A stranger anonymously paid the entire tab for my friend and I’s evening out because he overheard me talking about my upcoming birthday. My mom and I gossiped to beat the band, laughed at all our own jokes and closed down our favorite restaurant. Two more friends and I drank too much wine, Snapchatted each other from the next seat and stayed out waaaaay too late for a school night.

So I went out every night this week, spent a minor amount of money and “lost” my “time to relax” at home. My sleep suffered, true. But I gained hilarity and free stuff, support and encouragement! My ponytail and my phone don’t deliver that. Not even the bubblebath/Netflix documentary/Chablis continuum I LIVE for gives me all that! I forgot how much fun it was to go out. And I’d admittedly lost tabs on my own social persona.

I once read that all Victoria Beckham eats is freeze-dried shrimp which she keeps in her purse.... might be worth it.

Remember in your friend group how you were the fill-in-the-blank friend? Maybe you were the “cute” Beatle. Or you were the Ginger to your BFF’s Sporty. (I was Posh Spice. Obviously.) Well, when we neglect our friends, the ones who shaped us and helped us shape ourselves, we lose track of who we really are deep down, and how we became that. Did you forget that you were super smart compared to the general population? Super funny/deep/good at listening/hot. Your friends didn’t. Were you super good at taking disposable camera selfies with your BFF in your brown shirt and salt-stained boot-cut jeans while listening to your homemade CD mix? Yeah. You were pretty good at that. Guess what? You still are.

If including Ariel, Garth, the Spice Girls and Friends in this post didn't date me, I don't know what will. 

Honesty Alert: I think being a “homebody” might kinda be secret code for being a little bit depressed. Are you afraid that your friends will see that you’ve put on ten pounds or don’t have an amazing job yet or might not be able to carry-on an awkwardness-free evening of conversation? Don’t be. Instead, MAKE THE PLANS. Then don’t flake. GO. Show up as yourself, whatever form that takes these days. Reminisce. Reveal. Relive. Reconnect.

Your leggings are never going to get cancer. Netflix is never going to get into a car wreck. All the things that keep you inside your house are really the very things keeping you inside yourself. It’s lonely in there and you’re forgetting who you are. There wasn’t one moment this week that I wished I was home. I loved and savored every moment. I overcame my self-consciousness and my routine. I remembered there are people I love (who love me!) on this crazy life journey with me. And I’m going to spend more time with them. What adventures does next week hold? Well, if you’re free, hit me up and we can find out together. In the meantime, I've got plans tonight. And tomorrow.    -Kelly

A Room of Mirrors: Sparkly Shoes And Star Wars, A Social Media Experiment

This week: A Room of Mirrors

We all live “in our own world." Truth. But never has that fact become more blatant- and yet more cleverly obscured- than it is today. Why? Two words: Social media. If you know what I’m about to say, welcome me to the club on this. If you don’t, I’m gonna play Eve real quick and “Let me blow ya mind.” (RIP Billboard Top 100 Songs of 2001. Forever in our hearts.)

Someone said to me awhile ago: OMG! Did you see the new trailer for Star Wars: Return of the Rogue Hope Bot Clone Jedis? Don’t the teddy bear people look awesome? The CGI is like, OMG, the fish head people look so real. What if they kill Luke? I’m gonna cry so hard when Carrie Fisher…

And I was like, Whoa, slow your roll, nerd.

Um, noooooo. I haven’t seen the new trailer for whatever random Star Wars they’re putting out this month, and I probably won’t hear about the subsequent 9 million ones either because, lets face it, there must be more nerds out there than we realized for this insanity to continue to make money. Anyway.

They were like, How did you not see it? It’s all over Facebook! Everyone is sharing it! You had to at least have seen the ads for the t-shirts! And that’s when I realized that not everyone understands how social media works.

These > Star Wars

I wanted to say, Wait, you didn’t see the LilyVanity rhinestone encrusted pink ballet flats? They’re all I see. And what do you think the picture-taking vs. picture-posting ratio is with mothers of children under 10? Scary thought. Doesn’t anyone value their social status over their love for pyramid scheme-y wrinkle cream anymore? Oh, my bad. Maybe you don’t see that stuff. Only I do. Because we create our own social media worlds. And then we live in them. I know I see this stuff because I choose to follow these people. All my ads are geared specifically to me based on things I’ve clicked on, liked, opened and Googled. All that info gets funneled into an algorithm somewhere (probably by Star Wars nerds who make more money than I ever will) and voila! A social media world built just for us- as unique as a fingerprint. Guys, Big Brother lives in our phones and computers. Did you really think Star Wars: The Phantom Skywalking Teddy Bear Strikes Back was literally at the center of EVERYONE’s universe? Joey. Joey. Joey. Honey, no.

I probably find 75% of what I see on social media annoying. I could easily unfollow these people. (Not unfriend them- that’s just mean. You can’t help what you love, and it’s cool when people are passionate about something in their lives and put that out there.) I could unfollow. But I DON’T! Why? Because that, my friend, is a dangerous slippery slope. Say you tailor your social media feed by weeding out people with different interests, politics and religions than you. You don’t see their stuff anymore. Eventually you’ll forget you unfollowed these people. So then all you see are posts for things you agree with and ads for stuff you like. The world makes sense! Everyone is speaking your language! Great!

Nope! Not great! You’ve just created your own echo chamber. You’ve convinced yourself that everyone thinks and believes like you. Everyone likes what you like! They vote for YOUR candidate! They buy what you buy! But listen, that’s not true. And it’s a dangerous mentality to have. We’re building our own brick walls of prejudice around ourselves.

I see racist slogans or politics from kids I taught 7th grade to who aren’t old enough to vote, or the one millionth meme of a mascara-smeared crying girl that says “I wish I was pretty. Type AMEN if you think I am” and like-minded dumb crap like that that people post, but I don’t mute it or block it or unfollow it. I don’t want to develop the mentality that my thoughts/personality/interests are “right” or “better” – I don’t need to have my beliefs confirmed. I want the diversity of other people’s opinions, because without them, I’d lose the ability to understand the world and the changes within it. To me, that’s an unforgivable act of selfish, close-mindedness. If you accept a person as your “friend” then be their friend and look past your differences. Of course I don’t condone hate and evil. Be discerning. But a rainbow wouldn’t be as pretty if it was all one color. You know?

That being said, can we address something? Namely how living in our own echo chambers has created the shitshow that is Facebook Politics. I’m going there for one paragraph. Indulge me: We are the stars, the suns, the centers of our own worlds. So there are basically over 7 billion individual metaphorical planets out there spinning into each other, marrying, killing, drinking lattes, choosing not to wash their hands after using the restroom and such. Get it? Okay. Serious moment: It’s impossible to have a system of politics that works for (and unifies) everyone. Even within our own cities lie vastly different worlds; one size just doesn’t fit all. That’s why I get livid when friends argue politics on social media and support that mess with fake news articles from junk sources. (But Kelly, everyone is doing it! No, only YOUR FB friends are doing it. Your echo chamber, remember?) First of all, to publicly put that all out there, how socially inept are you? Omg. And second, FYI, your views only apply to the understanding of your own experiences. You back what makes sense for you. My life might be nothing like yours, so I might not back what you do, but unless we are extremely close, you’ll have no damn idea what I back. Why?

Because I value my personal relationships over my political beliefs. I WILL NOT argue with you. Ever. I’ll love you anyway and recognize that our paths must have just been really different. Then I’ll move on. Not everyone can do that, but for heaven’s sake, don’t say you’re “right” and someone else is “wrong.” That’s just ignorance. People say: Remember not everyone was raised like you. Well, sometimes, even people who were raised like you, at the same time, in the same house have different beliefs than you. Oh well. And if you’re the type who argues with internet trolls over politics while ignoring texts from friends, well, you need to re-prioritize, bud. Mother Teresa once said she would never attend an anti-war protest but to invite her if there was ever a peace rally. Preach, girl! It’s a mindset. Focus on making a positive outcome, not complaining to “have a voice.” Read. Ignore. Whatever. Just don’t mute it all away and forget it exists.

Selfie inception. It's lamer than it sounds...

That was a long paragraph on a topic I hate. To those still reading: Forgive me. What I’m saying is… keep your perspectives broad and be super careful with this new-age power of LIKING and UNFOLLOWING. Don’t live at the center of your own echo chamber. Don’t build your own room of mirrors. You started an online business selling stuff? Good for you and your ambition, girl! You run your own fan page for this or that? That’s awesome, and I’m gonna support it. Go ahead and share your make-up tutorials, I like those. Share your selfies. Confession: I LOVE THOSE. I will like up almost every selfie you ever post because I love to see the faces of the people in my world. If you confidently clicked a pic, I support that all day, no matter what you look like. And go ahead and share your Star Wars: Episode IXII Revenge of the Wookie stuff too, I’ll love on you anyway. It’s who I am. And I love that there are things that YOU love. And I love how different we are. And how similar. And that’s why we’re friends, my friends. -Kelly