TGIF: Does Taylor Swift hold the key to happiness?

Hello and happy Friday, patrons! How are you doing today? I hope you’re doing okay. I’m doing okay. I was supposed to start chemo this week but it’s been punted to next week because we were waiting on insurance authorizations. I’d say “classic” but I don’t think I’ve been in the medical world enough to earn that joke. Soon though. But, fear not, authorizations have been insured as I found out yesterday that I’ll officially start my first session next Wednesday. Phew. It gives me plenty of time to air out my chemo blue balls from this week.

So what do I do with this new found runway of time? Stay busy and relax, I guess. If you need me I’ll likely be slightly vibrating in and around my couch area for the next few days. I’ll also be getting botox. That’s right. I found out I had a few more days of waiting and what did I do? I made a botox appointment. If that ain’t the most LA-lady-with-a-dog-for-a-baby thing to do. I was overdue for a re-up and thought I’d forego it with chemo looming but an opportunity opened up and I snatched it. My forehead is sneaking in for a lil TLC. Now the nurses won’t be able to tell if I’m panicking during my treatments lol. Maybe it’s an insane thing to do but fuck it. I also went to the dentist this morning and got the ever loving shit scraped out of my teeth. The dental woman smiled and said “I love getting my teeth cleaned, and I love giving cleanings” as she ground that tiny Captain Hook hand against my enamel and dragged the sharp tip through the soft crevaces of my gums. NO SHIT I screamed in my head. “There was a lot of blood, but they’re all clean” she continued with a smile. “Oh great” I muffled while swallowing a lot of blood. It was an incredible 8am experience. All of the bits and bobs of the body are getting sneaky tweaks before we enter our infusions era.

Speaking of Eras, good lord I think I’m still recovering from the three hour Tay Tay spiritual awakening. I’ve been more exhausted this week than my physical output would warrant and I’m thinking it’s the after effect of the awkward tall girl assembly extravaganza. The collective energy of tens of thousands of gathered swifties and pseudo swifties expressing other worldly euphoric rapture has reverberated in my system for days to say the least. There was POWER and ENERGY and TRANSCENDENT VIBES going on in that stadium. It was borderline religious if it wasn’t so wonderfully corny sometimes. But maybe those go hand in hand. It was “I am cringe, but I am free” on steroids and also heroin with a few four lokos shoved up its ass for funzies. And that’s what made it so damn fun. There was liberation in the full embracement of what some consider cheesy or corny or overly sincere. She gets you drunk on her uniquely cliched earnestness and by the end of the night you’re blacked out from BOPS. Oh, the nonstop bops. She’s exactly who she is and she doesn’t shy away from it or make excuses and there’s something inspiring about that. Perhaps the way Taylor Swift has had undeniable, long-standing success by doubling down on owning the essence of her perceived cringy-ness is a lesson to us all. And damn does she have some bops. Good bops. Bops that speak to the complicated basic bitch that lives inside all of us. And damn is that bitch exhausting.

I’ve talked about embracing your cringe before and it keeps becoming more and more resonant for me. Worry and doubt and fear has filled the air and taken up a lot of space the last few years and I know that one way out of those feelings is through. You have to acknowledge and confront them to find out what they’re trying to tell you (spoiler: they’re always trying to tell you something). And I think part of the confrontation might involve embracing cringe. The more I start to accept or attempt to understand the uncomfortable parts of myself, the awkward interactions I’m afraid to have, the embarrassing thoughts I’m afraid to think, the insecure insecurities I try to hide, and the lame shit I’m afraid to like, the lighter the load starts to get. I’m starting to think that the cringe might be the gold. Even these thoughts about cringe feel cringe but maybe that means we’re getting somewhere? I don’t know exactly but there’s something about finding freedom in releasing yourself from the cringe of your cringe. Well, now I’ve typed cringe too many times I feel high. And that's harshing my cringe. Anyway, maybe these thoughts are all byproducts of the ‘fuck it’ energy that grows stronger as we get older but I think it’s cool to consider that the lame things about yourself that you think are lame are actually pretty cool. Thanks for that, Tay Tay. Side note: if "you can't spell cringy without crying" doesn't become a lyric and an actual Taylor Swift song I dunno what will.

So now we're off to have a productively peaceful weekend. With a smooth forehead and a BAR flies livestream on the horizon. I'm excited for the livestream. I have a few more pages of Anthropocene Reviewed to finish but it's been a real treat so far. Talk about embracing your cringe, or romanticizing your worries. Maybe that's it too. Analyzing your anxieties in a way that admires rather than admonishes them. John Green is excellent at that. And maybe that's a key to freedom. But maybe that's a conversation for Sunday. Maybe this whole post is a good precursor for Sunday. I hope you're able to make it. Even if you haven't read the book it's open to all patrons. Like Taylor, the conversation dances as best as it can all over the stage and it'll likely hit some marks better than others. So come along for the ride! Thanks for reading my weekly internet diary. And thanks, as always, for being here! 💚