Why Doris Day, you say?

New blog, here we are.

OMG internet! Remember me? I’m blogging again!

Actually, I created this here blog on January 1, 2020. Yep. More than a year ago.

I never quite found the gumption (or courage?) to start bloggity-blogging because of THEE first post. The Welcome To the World Wide Web, Ahem introduction.

Maybe because I would need to address the uncomfortable truth of:

1) Why am I blogging again.

2) Where in the World Wide Web have I been?

(I know, I know, I know. I fell off the face of the internet for two yearsish. Of course, I popped in for a quick HOWDY but then would disappear into oblivion.)

3) What the hell happened to my old blog.

Alas! One year later and here comes the long winded story starting in 3…2…1

Once Upon a Crusty Blog

I can’t explain the need for this here new blog without explaining my old blog. Lovely Flame was its name. It was a blogger.com blog. Nothing fancy.

Like. At. All.

It was my dorky college girl outlet that looked darn tootin’ sophomoric compared to the glitzy oh-so-chic blogs these days. But hey! It was cozy/comfy like an old diner with worn out seats, smelling heavily of greasy, glorious breakfast food. (Okay, now I want pancakes.)

At least that is how I looked at it. A far cry from Goop for sure, but it was just little ole me and little ole me’s words.

But then–TA-DA! Little-college-girl-me had a cute little nervous breakdown followed by a major depressive episode. Farewell ASU! Hello dusty hometown! Yep, your girl moved home from college to recover, becoming your typical washed up cliche Millennial, drunk on the hot piss “what is liiiiiiiife” angst.

Huzzah!

Along with losing my MIND, I pretty much lost everything else.

Well, except for my lil ole blog.

And my adopted fairy godmother, Doris Day.

Yes. Doris Day.

In the midst of my twenty-six year old psychosis, Doris Day’s “Que Sera Sera” serendipitously came onto my Pandora shuffle. There I was, tortured by all of the unknowns in my life and this adorable, HAPPY AS HELL, woman plopped into my ears singing “whatever will beeeeeee, will beeeeeee!”

So I Googled this chick. She sang! She danced! She twirled! Happiness blasted like fireballs from her face! She shocked my downtrodden, lugubrious system.

I wanted to be like her; I mean, look at that smile.

Doris Day inspired your girl here to shed her sad, insecure skin. Fighting depression with Doris Day just seemed kinda fun, kinda cute. Maybe my woes will tap its damn toes! Twirl, depression, twirl!

She appeared when all was lost like any good fairy godmother would do.

I created a happiness project in honor of her. Naturally, I named it, ahem:

Doris Day Would Love Me.

Looking back, I was fighting off my depression like mad, which sounds scary and desperate, but I can only remember that time as this happy daydream chapter, because I was fighting that black mental demon by consciously adding zest and spunk into my life. Hey! I wanted to sing, dance, twirl through life like Doris Day on the big screen.

I made GOALS, by golly!

I finished a book! I bought a glamper! I went on funky trips! I collected and re-created retro Jell-O recipes! I read books! I bought quirky, colorful clothes! I baked! I obsessively decorated for the holidays! Made friends with Circle K and Target cashiers! I even picked up running!

Most importantly–I moved out of my hometown! To my dream town in the mountains with streets lined with Victorian homes and darling diners.

Shoot, internet.

I credit my blog and my project. It was this tool that gave me LIFE.

Not because blogs are magical. Or Doris Day literally appeared with a magic wand and bippity boppity booped my life.

Nope. The magic of it all was in the self-actualization.

Okay,And Then I Abandoned Ship.

What? I was moving out of my hometown! I was on the cusp of a new life! My grand new life! Escaping! Running wild and free–THE WORLD IS MY FREAKING OYSTER–into a new chapter, far away from the shame and hum drum of my mediocre, barely-adult Millennial existence.

In sum, I was BUSY.

I put social media/blogging on hold. I had every golden intention to return to my blog once I settled into my fabulous new life. Life was just going to get better, and better, and better…

Well!

I moved, and it was…

SHIT.

Okay, not completely horrible–just the teeny weeny detail of NOT FINDING A FREAKING JOB.

I know: woe is me.

I guess I can only blame myself, I made the brilliant decision to move first, find job second. Clearly I thought the hour and thirty minute commute down the switchbacks of the Bradshaw Mountains was only going to be temporary. Clearly.

Months later, it became apparent that I inherited this over-the-river-through-the-woods commute as my everyday life and reality, but did I mention during a twenty year record breaking winter? (Note: it does snow in Northern Arizona. Note: that year it snowed a helluva lot. Note: I have never driven through snow or on ice, especially down a winding mountain road. Note: have mercy.)

I got a flat tire. I hit a deer.

Needless to say, it just wasn’t cutting the mustard.

After seven months of my GRAND NEW LIFE, I cut the lease short.

Ta-da! I landed back in my hometown. AGAIN. Moved in with the folks to pay off debt and to save up for another new start. AGAIN. Depression slammed my brain and spirit. AGAIN.

Cliche Millennial Life, Round Two. Oh dear.

Like, I’m allowed ONE mental breakdown. Moving back home to deal with my “issues” is acceptable once. But twice? TWICE? It just seemed utterly unacceptable.

So I fled from the internet and everyone. I hid for cover.

THE SHAME OF IT ALL.

Like, come on! Me? Sharing my life on the internet after such defeat as this??? This basic white broad trying to keep up with the Instagram Joneses? I was 34 and just…really, really, really sucking at this whole adulthood thing.

But it wasn’t just MY life that made the internet hell on earth–it was all of the lives opposite of mine, where everyone seemingly was crushing adulthood with very white teeth, very hipster husbands in their utmost three car garage suburban bliss. And the babies, all of those babies and NO DAMN FREAKING WEIGHT GAIN. Okay, I’ll calm down. But really, perfect hair too? Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!

Anyway.

I told the internet toodle loo.

(Which is tragic really– we were once such lovely friends.)

Meh.

Depression Round Two has been different.

Depression Round One was hysterical. OMG. Dissociative panic attacks galore! But this time it has been rather. . . MEH.

That’s right: meh. These past two years I have become Your Royal Mehness.

I no longer have hobbies.

(meh)

I no longer decorate to the nines for the holidays, and dress up in some dorky, festive outfit.

(meh)

I no longer bake while blasting Patsy Cline.

(meh)

I stopped reading books.

(meh)

I abandoned my quirky, retro style and basically have worn leggings and baggy shirts and sweaters exclusively. What is color??? What is style???

(meh)

I haven’t touched my book in two years, in fact I’m convinced it’s utter shit. And my glamper? Oh it has been rotting in the yard with a floor that madly needs to be replaced.

(meh)

Much to my shock and horror, I stopped going to church, praying even.

(meh meh meh meh meh meh meh)

You get it.

I was gobsmacked with the reality of how hard it was just to be MEDIOCRE. After all the hard work, distress, sacrifice, and prayers in pursuit of “making it” and my life??? is just basic??? I am not this smashing success I thought I would always be???

I am officially–no way escaping it–a damn basic white broad who emotionally binges on McDonalds, Diet Coke, and drives a Ford Focus. Shoot, I’m not even a very good basic. Living with parents trying to perpetually save up for adulthood because adulthood these days is like…impossible? Hello, I’m the poster child of Millennial Failure.

I felt very vulnerable and ashamed of that fact.

But the absolute worst? Falling into depression again, the dirty bastard.

Dear reader, I had fought so hard, but there I was, in its greasy grasp again. I finally submitted to it. Stopped fighting for life in the light. It was meh-nt to be (sorry, couldn’t help myself) so I’ll be content with my basic white broad meh-ness, thank you.

But…it turns out, it’s not all that exciting in Land Meh. Or very happy. Also, my brain is turning to mush. I began to miss my Doris Day-s, and with that, my old cozy blog and silly adventures that fed my soul like warm buttery pancakes, heavy on the butter dammit.

Say, if my old crusty blog helped once, surely it will shock life into my system again?

Where in the World Wide Web

After two years of being internet AWOL, I logged back into my old blog.

Well! About that.

In my extended absence, my old crusty blog was kicked off the server. I COULD NOT figure out what happened. I clicked so many buttons, changed so many weird little codes and nothing! THERE WAS NO WAY I was going to get on the phone with some tech savvy person at Google headquarters to explain what I did.

Screw that. I’ll just start anew.

So here we are! Hot dog! Ding! Ding! Just look at me now!

A brand spanking new blog.

Naturally, I named it after my once upon a self-actualization project, because this blog is intended to be just that.

Without further adieu, introducing!

Doris Day Would Love Me: The Confessions & Obsessions of a Basic White Broad.