February 23, 2026
There are no fucking rules, nor are there rules for fucking. There is, however, common decency, so let’s always keep that in mind.
I am OBSESSED with self improvement. Self help, self improvement, better living, whatever dumb title you wanna slap on that bag of bologna. I’m not 100% sure when it started, but I’ll take a strong guess it’s after I saw The Secret – and it didn’t help that the person who showed me that movie was also obsessed to the point of having an EDC gratitude rock (side note, did you assume Electric Daisy Carnival or Every Day Carry or both? I default to Electric Daisy Carnival).
I’ve done affirmations, mediations, incantations – anything ending in a shun.
I don’t really mind either. I’m not embarrassed one bit. You know why? Cause I fucking love myself.
I’ll give you the answer right now. You just gotta love yourself. You don’t need to stand in a Superman pose in a mirror (unless you’re announcing Wednesday), nor do you need to chant about how “in every day, in every way, you’re getting stronger and stronger” or you’re “30 and flirty and thriving.” All you have to do is love yourself and be completely comfortable with yourself.
And that’s freaking hard to do.
I can’t do it all the time. But I’ve lived long enough to be able to do it a lot of the time.
We weren’t born to make our mommies and daddies happy, or be girl or boy or they scouts, or achieve anything of any nature. We were just born to be ourselves. The magic in that is every day you have a choice. You have a choice to feel a certain way about yourself or others.
I grew up feeling pretty self conscious, and I still do a lot of times. Especially in my professional career, I thought I had to be or act a certain way. I thought I had to work and create a certain way. It took a long time for me to figure out that you have to be comfortable doing things the way you think you should, mistakes be damned.
I almost cringe typing out bad words. I’ve said bad words as long as I can remember, at least since I was like 5, and my parents would probably admit that I started much younger. A lot of people don’t like bad language. But why am I censoring myself? Am I trying to make someone happy so they’ll like my little blog and share it on their Tumblr and offer me a book deal? Nope. So why do it?
Certain things make me laugh. Certain things make you laugh. You can’t please all the people all the time.
So get up, stand up, and be yourself ya beautiful freak.
And to my daughter, Nina, sorry daddy typed the ‘f’ word.