There are many things to love about winter. I am, of course, kidding. Winter is a loathsome season and anyone who claims to love it is being paid off by “Big Winter.” Follow the money!
Regardless of whether or not you are on the payroll at Winter Corp., I think we can all agree that between the pandemic and the chill, we are all feeling a bit limited.
For me personally, giving up the things I look forward to the absolute most has been eating at me. I am beyond fortunate to have remained healthy during 2020 and I try my hardest not to lose sight of what is truly important, but I’m not going to lie and say that having my big pleasure activities taken away has been easy.
I wanted to check in with my readers because it’s been a hot minute (hi, lovelies!) and pass on a little thing that has brought me joy this year, and hopefully help you out too!
We’re talking holiday gifts this week!
Continue reading “Damn, Girl’s Top COVID Christmas Gift Pick”
I think Nike killed the feminine gift of place making. Nike and their athletic gear counterparts, airing shiny commercials of powerful warriors hurtling over their obstacles, barreling out of planes without parachutes, growling down wolves who stood between them and their bench press. Powerade and Gatorade drip from the pores of gods and goddesses who finished their 26-mile run across the Mojave desert. Just. Do. It. No excuses. The only thing standing between you and your goals is you.
This cultural shift has walked over the gentle necessary healing art of place making. It has silenced the guiding voice telling you what you need to support yourself in your journey. No parachute? No problem. Hurl yourself out of that plane, land in a sandpit, run those miles. Don’t stop yourself. No legs? This guy scaled a mountain without any. How dare you breathe an excuse as to why you can’t meal prep?
In practice, this has not brought out the Spartan warriors in all of us. Instead, it’s been crippling.
In a world where all objections are an excuse, all considerations are excuses, and all excuses are unacceptable, your guiding voice can not take care of you. You feel anxious and depressed because listening to your excuses is shameful.
I argue that the journey toward accomplishing your goals must start with deep listening to and acceptance of your excuses. Not only start with, but end with, and middle with. For a lot of women it’s not just the starting of a task, but the middle, the ongoing. We silence our concerns, our aches, the things that don’t feel quite right. We stop listening to our inner voice that wants a tweak, a change, some variety, and shame those voices as “excuses” and ourselves as “excuse-makers.”
In reality, our excuses are the key to sustainable change, greater well-being, and stronger self-esteem.
Continue reading “Stop Silencing Your Excuses”
Ah, coronavirus. A virus that needs no introduction. The star of all our lives right now brings out the best in us, the worst in us, but mostly it seems, the annoying in us. Whether it’s the protesters, the hoarders, or the family members who struggle way too much to figure out Zoom, there is some group of people getting under all of our skin. I invite you to have a nice vent with me, air those grievances, girl, because it’s never good to keep that in.
Continue reading “Who Is Bothering You Most during Quarantine?”
You’re a little witchy, aren’t you? You mystical huntress. Maybe not all the time but on occasion, when you are very lucky, you will step in exactly the right place and find a supernatural force that seeps up through Mother Earth till it finds the soles of your feet and lets you know: life is pretty magical and so are you.
This is our favorite feeling, isn’t it? Feeling attuned to the hedonistic unknown? That full moon, warm summer night, stolen kiss feeling? Mmmmmmm, Magical Calgon take me away.
I want to talk about cultivating that witchy spark in your home. How to feel like you live in a faery castle, or deep in the woods surrounded by healing waters, or in a white curtain-lined sex yurt complete with a naked Witcher. I also want to teach you how to do it without turning your home into a tacky head shop which, let’s face it, is your worst fear.
Decorating has never come naturally to me. I am drawn to overly feminine pieces or trendy garbage that never translates into my own life, and I tend to quickly turn on patterns and colors, first welcoming them into my home, then quickly becoming skeptical, and eventually loathing them. Before I know it I find myself once again burying a vase in my backyard in the dead of night, sobbing that it was an accident, that next time it will be different. The vase won’t betray me. I’ll love the vase. We’ll be together forever.
If you are like me, and it’s important to you to have an environment that fosters creativity, sensuality and a little bit of magic, I have some trend-free tips for you that should keep you out of the acquire, love, loathe, kill cycle.
Continue reading “Decorate Like a Damn Witch”
You see, dear readers, when a clusterfuck and a shit show love each other very much, they get together and make something truly terrifying: the year 2019.
I don’t want to dwell on the bad things because we have so many fun new topics to explore this year. So let me sum up what has kept me away from you all… with shopping.
Today’s post is my year, in self-care purchases.
Continue reading “My Year in Self-Care Purchases”
I am not one of these people who take Pinterest quizzes. I am not new-agey. I don’t like a whole bunch of fuss. I’m not sentimental. I don’t have a spirit animal. I am the most pragmatic person I know. Ironically, I would never read a post called “Why You Should Have a Life Philosophy.”
The whole idea summons images of inspirational print art, t-shirts claiming my heritage as a mermaid or unicorn, and Tony Robbins… then they get all blurred together as a mental picture of Tony Robbins having sex with a mermaid with a scrawly script above it that says “Everyday is a good day when you’re fucking a mermaid!”
But having a life philosophy is not about higher thinking or spiritual fulfillment or having sex with mermaids.
It’s about organization.
Continue reading “Why You Should Have a Life Philosophy”
I always loved the movies where the sexy detective has a bad day because the man who murdered his wife six years ago is killing again, so he goes home to his overly large industrial loft, takes his shirt off, pours a scotch and starts punching a punching bag. Then he takes a cold shower and has a serious think in a leather armchair.
This is not what I do when I have a bad day. When I have a bad day I watch Bridezillas, eat something called “Oreo whip” (a birthday party staple for the ten-and-under crowd concocted at my local grocer), and lay on the couch in my underwear and a t shirt inexplicably covered in peanut butter.
At least that’s what happens with some of my bad days. Other times, my negative emotions turn into exactly what I want them to: diligent sexy productivity.
I’ve always loved this idea of my day going completely to shit and being like, “I just need to exercise, drink responsibly, then brood like a badass adult.”
Luckily, I have implemented a system of retraining not my emotions but my reactions to them so I can be more the sexy detective than the slovenly child. I want to share this system to those of you who also struggle with controlling the actions of your naughty personas.
Continue reading “What Becomes of Your Emotions?”
Do you ever get the feeling that when it comes to blogging, there is something that people aren’t telling you? You see these blogs with thousands of followers, and you read their blogging tips and it’s, “Use good photos!” “It takes time!” and “Get a Twitter account!” and you’re like… okayyyy…
I don’t know if I should be telling you this but you are right. There is something they aren’t telling you. So Damn, Girl, you know I am going to spill the secret blogging beans!
DGGYST gets hundreds of requests for blogging tips and then refers to herself in the third person like an asshole because people are amazed that she has hit 5,000 followers just in time for her one-year blogiversary.
There isn’t going to be any “inspiration crap” in this post; this is a straight-up manual you can use to grow your readership and reprogram your DVR.
Continue reading “One Year Blogiversary: DG Blogging Tips”
I don’t remember much about my dad. I know that all the stories my mom tells me about their time together end with “…and then your dad stabbed him so we had to get the hell out of there.”
My most vivid memory of my dad was his knife coming through the roof of the van we lived in. I can still hear my mom screaming, “Run for your life!” while I tried to super-speed activate my stubby toddler legs. It turned out my great escape wasn’t necessary; they reconciled and went on to have more children. It’s the rom-com you never knew would scare you.
They did eventually part ways. My dad got out of the van to take a leak one hot summer night and my mom just sped away. She traded the van for a trailer, the alcoholic schizophrenic for a heroin addict, and we never heard from my dad again.
Until this month. A few days before my 30th birthday.
Continue reading “A Very Stabby Birthday”
I have been thinking a lot about class lately. My thirtieth birthday is right around the corner and I have really been trying to hone my style. I’ve always been horrified by my mother’s butterfly bedazzled bell bottoms and the ever presence of “big gulps, tractors, and pink camo” in my sordid memory bank. But what makes someone classy? The internet has nearly convinced me that the whole of classiness is kept in the human cuticles and if they aren’t on point, I should just hang myself with a length of the Confederate flag while standing on a crate of Pabst.
Not one to believe everything the internet tells me, I thought about real life. Who was the classiest person I know?
For me, that person is my dear friend Betty. Betty is a landscaper and ironically has the most mangled cuticles I have ever seen. When she comes by my place, covered in dirt, cursing up a storm, she brings with her an armload of dahlia bulbs or a length of hose for my yard. She clasps my face with both of her hands and tells me how beautiful I look that day. She tells me that my orchid is too dark green and will be happier in a sunny spot. She exudes a level of class that I strive for. Intelligence, warmth, openness. She is just so damn classy.
So put away your wallets and, cuticles be damned, today we are talking about the dos and don’ts of how to be all classy and shit.
Continue reading “How to Be All Classy and Shit”