Ok, lady, I love you. Bye bye.

About a week ago, I decided it was time to do a Facebook cleanse.

Don't squeeze the Charmin!

Don’t squeeze the Charmin!

This is much like a juice cleanse, but without the need for all of the toilet paper.

Seriously, though, I had over 350 people on my Facebook page. Who needs that many people all up in their life? I decided it was time to remove some people and to slim down my Facebook interactions.

I took a close look at who I had on there. Some were holdovers from when I was actively gaming on

Does anyone Farmville anymore?

Does anyone Farmville anymore?

Facebook. They were the first to go. I mean, I truly lost my taste for Farmville a couple of years ago.

The next ones to go were those adult friends that I had just outgrown or didn’t really care about anymore. You know the ones. The people that you meet and feel an immediate connection with and you just HAVE to be Facebook friends so that you can talk to each other whenever you want! And I don’t want to miss a single picture that you post! And you’re so witty, I love reading your status updates!!

You know who I mean.

You know who I mean.

Then they move away, or your kids don’t play sports together anymore, or you’ve decided not to do the PTA this year and you drift apart. And suddenly their pictures aren’t so mesmerizing and their posts are not that witty.

Yup, it was time for some of them to go, too.

Then come the high school friends that you have wondered about all these years since graduation. Whathigh school graduation are they doing? Are they married? Do they have kids? Are their kids ugly? (Oh, come on! You know you’ve wondered!!) It was especially meaningful for me, as I joined FB having moved away from where I had gone to high school and hadn’t really had a chance to connect with anyone from high school since graduation. So, when I joined FB, I went on a friending spree looking for everyone I could find that I went to high school with.

But something happened in the last few years. There were a lot of folks from high school that I had absolutely zero in common with. Except that we graduated from the same little high school. Our likes, politics, religion, humor – none of it meshed. But I hung onto them because they were from my past.

Well, it was time for them to go back there.

By the time I was done, I had purged over 150 people from my page. Each and every person on my page, with the exception of less than 10, I have met in person. I have spent time with them. Some of them are from high school, yes. But these are people that I reconnected with and have enjoyed having in my life. Many of them had words of encouragement for me when I was going through my divorce. All of them have are beautiful people, inside and out. These are all people that I wanted to keep in my life, even if only on Facebook.

I took the time to clean out my Facebook page because it, like clutter in your house, can weigh you down. You can be putting information out there that you maybe don’t want everyone to see. Maybe you are getting bombarded with some political stuff that you don’t agree with that is getting you down. Maybe it’s religious. Maybe you are just sick of seeing them post all the fabulous meals that they have or the sick new swag that they bring home constantly and just have to post on FB. Or maybe their humble brags get you down.

Why did I actually initiate the purge? For the simple reason that Facebook was depressing the hell out of me. I would look at the pictures of these people and realize that I had none of that in my life. I had no one that I could call my own, I had no money to buy any swag, and what the hell was I going to humble brag about?

Bottom line: I was jealous.

I was jealous of their lives, jealous of the things that they had. Just plain jealous. No, it’s not a pretty emotion, but it’s real, (to be fair to myself, it had been a pretty crappy couple of weeks for me, which made it a lot harder to look at those folks and not feel jealous).

But then I realized something more. They were not a whole lot more than fluff, the ones that had inspired my jealousy. Not all, to be fair. But a lot of them. It was always about their new things or the new places they were going. There was no substance. No true value. Not to me, anyway.

So I purged them. I cleaned up my news feed and, in doing so, also swept some less than desirable things from my soul, as well. I took control of my happiness and didn’t wait for anyone to do it for me. I spent so much of my adult life tying my happiness to someone else’s happiness that I forget that I can just make me happy now. It’s another step, a small one true, towards making sure that I never go back to that place I was with the ex again.

Without remorse or regret I was able to pull the trigger and say:


Just a thought

When I was younger, I lived in northern California. It was everything you don’t think of when you’re 12 and moving to California. There were no beaches, no surfer dudes, no tan women in bikinis sweating in the sun. It was all dead grass and cows. The area surrounding the base that we were stationed on was agricultural in nature, right at the base of the Sierra foothills. There were lots of cows (yes, I went cowtipping), and lots of lazy summer days spent playing in the river that ran behind my house.

My grandparents, my father’s parents, lived in Los Angeles at that time. They’ve both passed now, been over 10 years since they left us, but I couldn’t help remembering my grandmother today.

Or more accurately, her garden.

See, my grandparents lived on a little postage stamp lot in a house that had no air conditioning. The only time we could go visit was in the summer, so I remember being hot as all get out when we would go to visit. She had no room for a pool because she only had an “L” shaped yard that wrapped around her house. It was narrow, but meticulously kept. The grass was bordered on one side by the house and on the other by a raised garden.

In this garden were numerous gardenia bushes. It always seemed to me that there were hundreds, but I know that there weren’t room for that many. I do remember, however, that they were very big. In their raised brick garden, they were taller than my father. They were huge.

And the scent. Oh, Good Lord, the scent was intoxicating.

It gets so hot in L.A., and the heat would bake those blooms and the scent would fill the air. When we would go to bed at night, the windows would be open to try to catch any whisper of a breeze and I would fall asleep to the lullaby of the street outside and the scent of gardenias in my nose. It was so strong, you could taste it.

I have had a love affair with gardenias ever since.

I recently moved into my new place and I searched high and low for a gardenia bush to plant in my yard. The big box stores were already out when I finally had enough spare change to purchase one. I finally found one, by chance, at the Acme grocery store up the way.

I was like a kid in a candy store! I had finally found the one flower that would complete my garden. I had finally found the one plant that would bloom and make the yard smell sooooo good.

Unfortunately, gardenias are a bit temperamental. Let me put it this way: gardenias, when transplanted, can make a woman caught in the throes of labor look like a saint.

I pampered that dang plant. I watered it and used special acidic feed for it. I talked to it, called it beautiful, begged it to bloom some of the buds that were sitting ready on the bush.

And like a recalcitrant child, it dropped all of the buds like hot potatoes.

I know it did this just to spite me.

I checked every day for months to see if I had finally gotten a bloom. Just one bloom is all I wanted. The chance to bury my nose in those velvety petals and inhale that wonderful perfume.

I consulted websites, asked gardeners. I pulled back on the watering, stroked the leaves, was vigilant in pulling off the yellowed leaves.

Then, one day, as a last ditch effort, I poured coffee grounds on the damn thing.

The next day, this is what happened:

Three blooms!!!

Three blooms!!!

The lesson learned? I guess gardenias need caffeine to kick start their morning, too!

Woot! I did it!

When I first moved into my new place and took a shower, I realized that there was a small lake outside my shower stall door. My friend took a look at it and determined that the rubber stopper on the door was rotted out and needed to be replaced.

So, today I went to Home Depot and bought one. It was fairly cheap. About $3 and seemed fairly easy to install. You just remove the old one and slide the new one into the grooves that the manufacturer so conveniently put there for that little piece of rubber.

Yeah, nothing in my life is easy, so why should this be any different?

I took off the metal piece from the bottom of the shower still door. That was easy. A Phillip’s head screwdriver and I was in business.

Once it was off, I proceeded to realize how freaking NASTY that metal piece was. Like, it had never, ever been removed and cleaned in all the years that this trailer has been lived in. Seeing as how this trailer was produced in 1982, that’s about 30 years of crap that was built up on that. Soap scum, mildew, hair. OMG it was totally gross!!!

So, first order of business, Clorox wiping the hell out of that thing!

Then, moving on to pulling that rubber thingy out.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to come out easily. It had rotted in spots, torn away in others. It took me a butter knife, flat head screw driver, Phillip’s head screw driver, box knife and 5 damn hours to get that thing off of there.

I never before realize that rubber could literally fuse with steel. I had no damn idea that that was even scientifically possible.

But, after much elbow grease, and much frustration, I finally got that track clear enough that I could put the new one on.

It was beautiful! Clean and fit perfectly. I put it back on the bottom of the shower stall door and closed the door to admire my handiwork.

And realized that the damn door is cockeyed. 😦