We're Not #1
It's hard out here for an overachiever
I had a really fun idea, I thought. As a curious person and a writer (redundant, perhaps) I’m up for mining any good story I come across. My own stories, included. See: This Entire Substack.
Being someone who believes forward motion is crucial to live, shark-like, I soak up where I’ve been and carry it with me. Sometimes, but not often, literally. After all I’m a triple Virgo and purging is my love language. Bummer about my homemade Madonna-esque skirt.
So you know the few things I’ve carried with me from Oklahoma to Texas to New York to Los Angeles mean a lot. One, is a pair of my Grandfather Peveto’s socks—a man who died the year I was born—which I wear for good luck. Yes, they’re still standing up and look kind of cool. Two, is this amazing cat sculpture I talked my Aunt Loretta into giving me at a yard sale (turns out to be iconic art from the 1960s, worth more money than she knew, but not enough to ship it back to Tulsa especially given it’s poor treatment in all the moves). And, three is a giant box of trophies I won my own damn self. (Images forthcoming.)
I have hauled a lot of trophies and plaques and certificates and honors and evidence of scholarships across the country. So many, I felt I could tell a story through each win. And I will. When I stop being in shock from the fires that have forced my friends to leave (please help), people I care about to be displaced for who knows how long, and my life span to be compromised given my asthma and history of college/early 20s smoking habit. Oh, and for my kids to stop being fucking terrified as this generation can’t help but be absolutely despondent about the future, especially given that fucking guy and his asshole, douchebag friends who are all, “Oooh, look at us! We can make statements and scare people! Aren’t we cool?” Well, you’re not cool and you never will be. But you can certainly make people’s lives miserable, if that’s what you’re going for. Dumb fucking dickweeds.
Sometimes, you have to look at your two adorable animals who have no idea they were evacuated from the second worst fire in the history of California, and take joy in their beautiful, dumb, faces.
Being an irreverent Gen X gal with two children in 2025 is not turning out to be as cool as I thought. Which is why launching my new Award Winning Substack is not the smooth jump into tales of sheep named Garfield and Odie and cheesecake demonstrations gone awry that I had imagined. Instead, I’m sitting in my home wondering if the next fire will race down my hill, and being from Oklahoma, and living through 9/11 in NYC, wondering how anyone feels safe, like, ever. It’s hard to make jokes under these conditions. It’s hard to get out of bed under these conditions.
The truest thing I heard about our current state of affairs was from my MIL who called me after I’d been silent when she texted repeatedly, “Are you okay?” Because, no? Who, after talking to me for some time about the tragedy of the fires, coming on the heels of Covid, paired with not one but two presidencies where the cruelty is the point and the cruelty has, and will kill, and the effect on my children (all our children), said, “Well, you have two amazing dogs who you love, and love you.”
She was right.
Aside from the people I love, these dogs are the best things that have ever happened in my life. And they win awards, too. Bravo, Foxy. Bravo, Teddy. You got some certificates, too. Sure, you still bark and jump on people no matter how many training sessions we’ve done. And you will eat anything that’s left within your reach, and Foxy, you do love a spite pee when you’re mad at us.
But, you won an award, once. You were special and people acknowledged that specialness. Sometimes, you have to look at your two adorable animals who have no idea they were evacuated from the second worst fire in the history of California, and take joy in their beautiful, dumb, faces. (Side note, my big dog came from Paradise, the site of the worst fire in California’s history.) You’ve got to say, you know what? We’ve got pure, unconditional love right up in this house. Look at this cuteness. Just look.
Ya’ll. We’re gonna’ take the wins where we can get them. Stay safe. Keep winning. We’re in this together. Don’t forget that.
Before I read this, I thought that you were making a statement about the collective "we" of the U.S., and I was all "right on," but now realize that you can consider yourself, your dogs (and your Stack) to be winning in life accomplishments . . . something worth celebrating.