Flourish in Progress

When friends tell me their awesome news, I make it a point to let them know I am FUCKING EXCITED. I widen my eyes, open my mouth into an “O,” and put my hands up. It probably looks like I’m about to be hit by a train, but that’s my Congratulations Face.

It’s nearly impossible for me to be excited for myself. I feel self-conscious and selfish when I sneak into the bathroom and give myself the same Congratulations Face in the mirror I give to everyone else.

Plus, it’s hard to fist bump yourself. I know because I tested it out once. It makes you cross-eyed.

A year ago, I submitted an essay to Smith Magazine about the moment that changed my life for their upcoming book, The Moment: Wild, Poignant, Life-Changing Stories from 125 Writers and Artists Famous and Obscure (Harper Perennial).

Why am I even doing this? They’ve received thousands and thousands and thousands of submissions. I’m not even a real writer!

A month passed. Six months passed. I didn’t hear back from them. I forgot about it. And then a month ago, Smith Magazine dropped me a line, “You’re in the book, bitch!” Well, they didn’t say “bitch” but I added that in my head because I think it makes the news sound more official.

It hits booksellers January 3rd. My moment is titled “Liner Notes,” page 164.

I’m excited. And I just gave myself a fist bump. Fuck being cross-eyed.

UPDATE: To celebrate this good news, I have purchased the following items today: ChapStick Flava Craze Lip Balm, heavy-duty adjustable 3-hole punch, a dozen retractable gel roller pens, and a bag of Funyuns. I feel pretty gangsta right now. Thank you for letting me share.
A shout out to my friend Carolyn for sending me this picture.

This week: Parenting skills. Get some. 

Most of the time, I try to put my best foot forward when I’m getting to know someone new. I bet some of those people walk away thinking, “Oh, that Elizabeth. She’s such a fucking lady.“

I’m more relaxed with kids because, let’s face it, kids are dumb. I can just be any ol’ way around them and let my *real* self come out because they don’t know the difference.

On Saturday, I spent most of the day with Cal and seven of her friends. I think it’s pretty great when a kid hangs out with her parents at an amusement park because it probably means she’s too busy to do other activities like huff gasoline or enter beauty pageants.

Eight hours in, things were looking pretty good. Everyone still had all of their limbs. They were all speaking to each other. Harv only gave ONE lecture about manners. I put on a shameface while he was talking to me, and I promised not to step out of line again. The kids pretended not to notice when I was getting a scolding, but I could sense relief that they weren’t the ones getting reprimanded. I’d like to think that I was taking one for the team.

If the team consists of one adult who can’t act straight.

Why the lecture?

I sat in front of a rowdy group of boys during a show. Kick Kick Kick. A few seconds of peace. Then Kick Kick Kick. After a few minutes, I turned around and said something like “JESUS, WHO DO YOU KIDS BELONG TO?”

I’m not proud. I mean, what if these boys had never heard Jesus’ name before? What if they didn’t *have* any parents? Maybe they were there out of the goodness of some charity that sent orphans who didn’t know Jesus to amusement parks.

Well, at least they weren’t out huffing gasoline or strutting their stuff in beauty pageants. I choose to focus on the positive.

Ever said anything out of frustration to young peeps?
image via Married to the Sea. com