Help Sienna Fill The World With Beauty

Friends,

I will get back to hemming and hawing about my own non-important drivel soon, but today I implore to you read about, and if you can, help Sienna.

Sienna is a cherubic blonde toddler diagnosed with F.O.P just a month after her second birthday.  F.O.P is an extremely rare and debilitating medical condition where bone forms in muscles and other soft tissues of the body which can restrict movement. For those of you with small children, can you imagine keeping their movements restricted??
Unfortunately Sienna was no diagnosed until she experienced several months of flare-ups, starting at 20 months.

Take a look at this little doll and if you can find it in your hearts {and wallets} please give a little something to help Sienna and the others who suffer from F.O.P have a chance.

After all, 'tis the season...

{help sienna here}
xoxo

Greetings From The See-Saw

And by "see-saw" I mean "the insanity of my inner-brain."

I've always been a very analytical person.  Most writers are.  But in the past year I've become overly-analytical.  Hyper analytical, if you will.  

Why?  Well, I'm an information whore.  I need facts, details and to gather as much knowledge as possible about any situation I am in or have concern over.  

I've boiled it down to one basic thing:  

com·mu·ni·ca·tion

noun\kə-ˌmyü-nə-ˈkā-shən\:

1  : an act or instance of transmitting

2

a : information transmitted or conveyed

b : a verbal or written message

3

a : a process by which information is exchanged between individuals through a common system of symbols, signs, or behavior <the function of pheromones in insectcommunication>; also : exchange of information

When Lindsey doesnt get enough of this, she does not do very well.  

She goes into her own head. Very very deep into it.

And apparently, she starts to talk in 3rd person.

And drive herself, and most of her friends/co-workers, insane.

I usually allow this insanity to play out for a brief period of time, after all an imagination is a terrible thing to waste.  Then, I try to ground myself by facing the fact that I am probably inventing a lot of things and nothing has anything to do with me.  And lastly, I always come back to this story my dear friend D once shared with me.  

I will now share it with you.

Her Diary/His Diary

Her Diary

Tonight, I thought my husband was acting weird.

We had made plans to meet at a bar to have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment on it. Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed, but he didn't say much. I asked him what was wrong. He said, 'Nothing' I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said he wasn't upset, that it had nothing to do with me, and not to worry about it.

On the way home, I told him that I loved him. He smiled slightly, and kept driving. I can't explain his behavior. I don't know why he didn't say, 'I love you, too.'

When we got home, I felt as if I had lost him completely, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there quietly, and watched TV. He continued to seem distant and absent.Finally, with silence all around us, I decided to go to bed.

About 15 minutes later, he came to bed. To my surprise, he responded to my caress, and we made love. But I still felt that he was distracted, and his thoughts were somewhere else. He fell asleep -I cried.

I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.

His Diary

Couldn't get the boat engine to start today, but at least I got laid.

And there you have it.  

I hope this helps all of you get off the see-saw time and time again.

Love Is A Merry-Go-Round.

A merry go round that ain’t always very merry.

Round and round we go.   Will we stop? We never know.

Same shit, different time.

Different day.

Different guy.

One minute you’re elated.

The next, fairly certain you might vomit.

Then, you’re exhilarated. “OMGEE THIS IS THE BEST RIDE EVERRRRR!”

Followed immediately by, “I’m scared, how the hell did we get here, get me the fuck off this fucking ride surely designed by the spawn of satan.”

Repeat. In cycles. Dizzy, dizzy cycles.

Me (to self): “Why do I keep getting on this thing?”

Why do we keep thinking the ride might be different this time? 

Sure, it’s in a different location.  And this merry-go-round is RED.  Our last one was blue.  Hell-O.  Like, soo different. Duh.

And it IS different.  Until it isn’t.  And then it is again.  I think?

Oh wait- am I just going around in circles here?

Somebody stop me. 

Stop the ride.

Stop it all.

I squint my eyes and wait for the spinning to cease.  The nausea to scram. My appetite to return.  And hopefully when it does, it only wants kale and nuts.  Why can't I ever just crave KALE??

But we still hold out hope.  We have to believe that maybe this turn, this ride is going to take us to a new place. 

And, if the stars align and luck wins out, we get to graduate to the next level.

I’ll see you on the see-saw. 

Back by popular demand

Well hello, hello blogosphereicals! 

I know. I know.  Where the hell have I been?

Thanks to all of you that wrote comments asking me to come back.  The 8 of you are really sweet. ;)

The truth is, I’ve missed you all. 

Missed writing. 

But Lindsey was in a reeeal dark place for a lil’ bit back there.  I guess having your first real heartbreak at 34 can stir some shit up.  Cause lemme tell you, that shit was stirred and stirred good!

I began to question EVERYTHING.

My life.

My job.

Where I lived.

My hair color (should I dye it? It’s still natural. And one of the only natural things I have left?)

My job. Yes, again. 

Should I get a dog?

My job. Again again.

Are all my jeans hitting my legs in an odd place and no one is telling me??

And so on…

Not to mention I had the post of being my sister’s Maid Of Honor (and sole wedding party member). So, in the midst of my Goth period, I had to plan a bachelorette lakehouse party for 12 in Austin, play mediator between my mom and sister, help with things for the wedding [like the song my sister wanted me to sing as a surprise—NO PRESSURE].  Write a speech for my only sibling {even less pressure}, find a dress, fight with my mom, and still try to go to work.

My ex bf Champ also decided to re-emerge during that time, calling for a truce and apologizing for being angry at me for TWO years when he realizes I was just “doing what I needed to do.”  We ended up meeting for dinner.  It did not go amazingly.

Then I got home to some Dad-issues (that have since been resolved).

And maybe I also, in a fit of insanity, agreed to let a Brit guy I met on my last work trip to London come to stay in my shoebox with me. FOR A WHOLE WEEK. And play tour guide to all things New York/American. I'm super smart sometimes.

Luckily, I also took the entire month of August off. You know, for mental sanity/not hurtling myself off my office balcony whislt crying “carpe diem!”  Or just whilst crying. Which I did. A LOT.  

And, somewhere in there, during one particular "why am I here again?" day at work, I decided to force myself to get back on Match.com.

See, I had been dating. Many guys.  None of whom weren’t 27. Or 28.  And I was over it.  But where the crap were the AA guys? 

Some ideas:

NO WHERE.

Invisible.

Gay.

Taken.

Hiding.

Hiding under a douche boulder.

In Boulder.

In Brookland.

In my imagination.

So I decided to give Match another try, only this time with rules: 

No meeting a guy unless I feel very good about his pics (in terms of “Am I attracted to you?”) and just as impornatly, do we have good chemistry via email/text or talking banter?  No to either is a no-go.  

The usual list of Dungeons and Dragons freaks, hobbits and grandpappys hit me up right off the bat.  But, once again, I went people shopping.  And, lucky lucky me.  I found Ole Miss. 

Who is  now (drumroll)……..my boyfriend.

That’s right.  I have a straight-up-now-tell-me BF.   

And he is maybe the best guy I have ever met.  I knew it from the beginning.  It took me awhile to leggo my Eggo and really fall in.  But fall I have. Or at least tripped and stumbled, Lindsey-style. 
I’m totally smitten, to the point I may very easily end up sinking my own battleship.  But I’m trying very hard to get out of my head, and stay out of it.

It’s been a solid 4 mos and we’re about to spend together:

-Both birthdays {Dec Sag twinsies!}

-Christmas with his fam in the New York area

-New Year’s in Colorado with my sis, hubs and friends

(not to mention a decent amount of money. Holiday travel—am I right?!)

"What does this mean for us readers?" you're undoubtedly asking. 

Well, I still have some pretty good stories from the past few months that my depressed fingers just couldn't seem to type out.  So maybe those will come up.

And, maybe I'll just write.  About what the hell ever.  And you can tell me if it sucks or not.  

IRREGARDLESS [not a word], today I give thanks for all of you and your support. 

To my amazing family.  

My fabulous friends, all from different ways and walks but all such incredible people I can’t believe how blessed I am.

And, for Ole Miss.

Everyone, please say a little prayer.  And feel free to have it start like this:

Please. Don’t f*k this up, Lindsey!

gobble gobble, y'all.

odilsezenmetin

odilsezenmetin..

Don't Call It A Comeback...

Hello, amazingly patient and understanding blog readers [if I do, in fact, still have any of you.]


I'm Back.


"oh sure, Lindsey. Sure you are.  We're not falling for this again."


Right. I get it. But lemme tell you, it's been one shit-hurricane of a few months!  Yeeehaw.  I can't believe I even still have motor skills. 
I digress.
I'd like to start blogging again.  That is, if you'll keep reading?
I've actually had quite a few misadventures in the past few months and am working on writing a funny one right now.  So, it's going to be a gradual, step-by-step-Goose n' soda-in-hand kind of comeback.


BUT.


In my blog absence, I've been hugely into Instagram.  In fact, I rarely use the Facebooks these days.  So if you've managed to find me [all you Nancy Drews out there!] that's probably why I haven't friended you.  I hate it.
But 'the instas?' We LOVE.  So, I'd love it if you wanna follow me.
@linzfaryl is my name.
And, I'm attaching below a sampling of my fave instas (so hard to pick a few!) from the last few months.
Enjoy and I'll see you reeeal soon with the juice!

"Sexy Sue Goes to London"

"MIM commandeers our 'luxury' boat"

"Corn Man"

"Ad Prom"

"Untitled"

"The 1am Bacon Sammy. With mayo."

"Hey Lady"

"Rooftop Jammin' with BFWB & Friends"

"Happy 4th! Eat sand and die."

"Betrothed Sister Toast"

"Too much laughing, not enough oxygen"

"Pork knuckle"

"Backstage at 'Watch What Happens LIVE"

"Arsty as Fuck"

"Irish"

"When Guys Tell You How To Pose"

"You say tomato..."

"Tracking Graffiti Art Progress"

"Reacting To MIM's Driving"

"Frisbee for One"

That's it for now, sugarcakes! Hope you enjoyed and see y'all soon! 

Passover in the Lonestar State

I just got the Blogger app on my iPhone so I'm taking her for a test drive!
Hope you liked my Nicaragua post. It made me feel lazy and cranky now that I'm back. Luckily, I have some great stories for you. Unluckily, I'm in San Antonio and The General (aka mom) had commandeered me to do "fun" tasks like peel 10 apples. By. Hand. (pictured). Other fun tasks included going wedding dress shopping with my sister, B.H. Which is awesome, seeing as she doesn't even like wearing NORMAL dresses. Although we did send this pic to her fiancé as "the winner." His remark? "I will rule any kingdom with you." Well-played, sir.
Another fun thing that's happened at home was when my sister, who cycles a lot around her town in Colorado, discovered this helpful article my mom left waiting for her upon arrival.
I. Love. Home.

Ps- where are these pics even going to end up and in what order? Blogger app: FAIL.

Good luck deciphering. And stay tuned for my next MisAdventure. It's a good'n!

Happy holidays, lovelies!