2004: Beauty School Dropout

Drop it like it’s hot… Drop it like it’s hoott. When the pimp’s in the crib ma…When the pigs try to get at ya…And if a n… Even while quoting Snoop Dogg – it makes me uncomfortable. Completely irrelevant to my white-girl, suburban living self in 2004 – I loved that song and not to brag but I would pretend-to-know-the-words-mumble-rap better than the next guy. I’d turn up the bass in Prancer, my silver Mitsubishi Lancer and evaluate my surroundings – who thinks I’m a bad ass? You- in the Jeep? 

By the end of that year, I was officially a beauty school dropout. Not the proudest fact I have about my past but it does hold a level of, what-the-fuck-ever humor. Anyone who can handle the pressure of altering someone’s entire appearance, because that’s what hair does, while being forced to hold an, at least somewhat, sincere conversation while doing so – seriously, kudos to you.

The real reason I quit?

I couldn’t handle old lady feet in my face while trying to pass the nail portion of cosmetology. Did you know that students, and I’m sure salon workers who have the displeasure of feet-in-face work, put smelling oils under their noses?

Me: Why can’t I just learn hair? I’ll deal with skin – but I’d like a build-your-own curriculum where I can just skip nails altogether. 

Administration: No.

Being a habitual quitter my whole life, there were zero fucks given. I couldn’t do it, so logically I just quit. Ten plus years later, older and obviously so much wiser… the only real reason I regret the abrupt decision is strictly financial. I’m not passionate about hair and makeup or making stinky feet pretty.

Big Picture? I regret making a habit out of giving up and simply not caring enough, so I’m trying my best to give a shit more often nowadays.

Sometimes inspiration falls into my lap on the regular, sometimes it needs to be found. The single-word prompt staring at me this morning was Drop. The first thought that entered my head was a lemon drop martini – the second was when I dropped my newborn baby.

[Disclaimer: Those two ideas are in no way related and no babies were inured]

There were a few other contenders that came to mind when I forced myself to take on the prompt: mic drop, drop the beat, Drop Dead Fred; classic movie, tear drops, football fumbles, drop it like it’s hot, beauty school dropout – and there it was.

Let’s be honest, if I only write when the inspiration slaps me – I’ll post nothing but Bernie Sanders and other political rants for the next eight months. See ya tomorrow for the second attempt at PostADay.

I Just Want To Write


The super stellar thing about having my own blog is that it’s mine to do with what I please. I really thought that having a writing schedule would be my answer to everything, making my blog exactly how I want it – but… It’s not; I was wrong.

Plans have changed.

I don’t want it to feel like an obligation. I miss writing to write. I’m an instant gratification kinda gal – I don’t want to have a blog post in my draft folder for 2 weeks…while it “waits its turn”.

I want to write, post & repeat.

If I see a daily prompt that I want to be involved in – I’m going to do it. If I feel like I want to crap & moan about something that’s obnoxious – I’ll do it. If I want to write about something going on in the news – I’ll do it. If I feel like writing a short story…yeah, you guessed it – I’ll do it.

 Who needs a schedule? 










No Comeback

Things I used to lack

Ambition and Inspiration

Feelings familiar from way back

Apparently, this is called a passion

When did I stop and why?

Doesn’t matter because now

It’s gives me this wonderful high

Here come the burdens, proceed with caution

My heart tells my brain, You’re a maniac 

Can’t you see? This is your prescription

Silence, No comeback