And by man...I clearly mean ladies. ALTHOUGH I know that there are some dudes who read my blog but probably do so in secret. So shout out to the ones with penises. You are welcome brothers. AND...you have to take into account that Walt Disney himself enjoyed his fellow breathern (yeh PRIDE)...
How have I gotten off track already?
ANYWAYS, I've just decided that at this point I am going to start blogging about random shit. Which really isn't much different than what I HAVE been blogging about for almost 10 years. 10 YEARS???!!! Yes. 10 years. A decade of Amy wisdom covering everything from labia to lesbians to fat to thin-ish, to fat-ish...and back again.
But I was sitting here watching a bird outside my window and I was like...man...I love birds. And I do. And so I followed up with a question to myself and was like...WHY do you love birds so much? I thought maybe it was because I have my duck family now at the Lakehouse, but really...my love for birds...and by love I mean the deep longing I could communicate with the feathered suckers...goes back to Snow White. AND Cinderella. I wanted little bird friends to dress me. I wanted a fat little mouse named Gus to be my friend. I HAD human friends...but I needed all the animal friends as well.
Not much has changed.
But THEN I began to wander down that old familiar path of women blaming Disney for the skewed thought process of needing a prince (penis carriers) to save us.
Let's pause once again for me to share something related but also not super relevant to the point I am trying to make:
I hate Disneyland, Disneyworld, Harry Potter Land, Seaworld. ALL OF IT. And I know my parents are probably reading this thinking "well, too bad we can't get our money back from the trips we took"...but even as a little girl I was underwhelmed. You have to remember that I am 148 years old and in my childhood. there was no "fast pass". You had to stand in line for hours to ride in tea cups. TEA CUPS! And on top of the that their "rollercoasters" were weak. Tiny. I am a thrillest (one who seeks thrills on rollercoasters)...and even as an 8 year old...I was disappointed. And my mother, bless her frugal heart, wasn't about to spend money on any version of the Bippity-boppity-boutique....and rationed our food over the course of the day like we were born in the Great Depression...so I wasn't like those little girls who come back from the Disney with an entire head to toe princess makeover. Although TO BE FAIR, Marji did buy me a stuffed Mini Mouse once. But my point is...
No...I have forgotten my point at this point...
Although I know longer see Therapist (Blue Cross Blue Shield be trippin'), I think a lot about the concept of 'scripts'...the stories or things we tell ourselves to make sense of a situation, to justify behavior...the ones that may be buried in falsities...the ones that usually can do more harm than good. Those scripts. And while we certainly have brains in our heads and shoes on our feet, from a very early age the idea that we needed someone to save us (probably gonna be a dude), and that love is like a fairytale, was pounded into our hearts and heads. And it continued once we gave up the cartoons. I have been SOMEWHAT of an emotional wreck this last week and do you know what I almost did yesterday? I almost watched...
WHY? Why would I do that to myself? Luckily I had the mental fortitude to NOT watch the Notebook and instead watched The Sinner on Netflix (uh...hello disturbing), drink a bottle of wine, and go to sleep at 7:30pm.
And if I am being honest, I get it. We want to believe that whatever we feel is missing can be solved by finding another human being. Like we are that toy that actually came from Tupperware (not Fisher Price as I thought until 34 seconds ago when I googled it) where you put the shapes in the ball that had the shape cut outs. Like we are missing an octagon and if we can just find that octagon to plug our hole (sigh...that's a different post altogether), then life will be better. We will be fixed. Complete.
And I'm gonna tell you something else.
I have no idea if that's true or not.
I find that most modern wisdom these days (Pinterest) contradicts itself. Do we work on making ourselves "whole" so when we find another human being to bed and love...they are just "extra"? Or do we have to work at love and getting what we want.
SOCIAL MEDIA PINNING BOARD....GIVE ME THE ANSWERS I SEEK.
Whatever. I am pretty sure in fact that I, Amy Irene Workman, may be smack in the middle of an existential crisis.
I know nothing. (uh...I know SOME things...like I love my animals and my 4th toe is starting to look like mother's toe and I am only 38).
I am questioning everything.
But such is life.
Or IS it?
Whatever. Happy Monday beautiful people.