Are you worthy?

People talk about worthiness in strange ways.

As if it’s a thing to become, or attain, or accomplish or get done. 

Unworthiness often hides in funny places: behind athletic trophies, professional degrees, or bags of Doritos. 

Sometimes it’s declared emphatically, as in: I am not worthy. 

Or variations thereof: 

My teeth aren’t white enough. 

I have a thyroid problem. 

My car is out of gas. 

I can’t cook.

READ MORE HERE

and make sure you’re on my new and improved SHIT LIST.

I just turned pro.

It’s official folks. I am a professional Smart Ass. 

Pro. 

Fessional. 

I even have a card. Check it. 

Read more HERE.

Happy Chrismahannukwanzakuh

Hey, have you heard about my latest shopping injury? 

Read all about it HERE. 

And make sure you’re on MY SHIT LIST, mamacita! 

Happy Holidays everyone….

or…

Happy Chrismahannukwanzakuh

See you over at www.lineleoff.com 

 

Yo, mama!

Where have you been? 

Here’s what you’ve been missing if you haven’t been to visit me at the new place.  

I wrote about having my stinky boy home for the holidays, HERE.

Why is it that boys stink and we love them anyway?

Then I wrote about the The Bathroom Scale. Does yours look like this?

So, make sure you have unsubscribed from my old blog site: http:www.theworstmother.wordpress.com 

and be sure to get on My Shit List at the new site. 

I miss you girlie. 

xo 

Going on a diet? There’s a (really big) pill for that!

I’m going all Sarah Palin again people.

As in: ROGUE.

So put your helmets on. Brace yourselves. Grab onto a tree.

Because I’m going on a d-d-d-d-d-d-d-diet. 

What fresh hell is this?

Jeesh, when did “diet” become such a monster of a four-letter word? You’d think it was the f-word.

READ MORE HERE

I know you wanna! 

ps: If you already received this frawesome* post from me, make sure to remove yourself from the old wordpress blog  and get on MY NEW SH!T LIST .

I know this is confusing dear sugar plums. 

Don’t hate me because I’m a pain in the ass. 

*freakin’ + awesome = frawsome

my “Journey” with you

Dear beautifulwonderfulamazing friend.

I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed our journey.  But alas, we must soon part company.

Oh dear, I was afraid there would be tears (mine).

I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

I don’t want to have to do this.

Okay. That was a fib. So let me defibrillate. (omg, I am ROTFLMAOBCIAMSOWITTYNOT)

I am moving my ass over to my new home.  When I started blogging here, in August of 2010, I had no idea what I was doing.

I was just A Small Town girl, living in a lonely world.

So, what could I do?  Well, natch I…

…took the midnight train going anywhere. And HERE is where I ended up.

Of course, this story goes on and on and on and on. 

Strangers (you) were waiting (for me!)

Sorry it took me so long to find you, but once I did, boy oh boy… did we have fun, or what? (Please answer this question in the comments section below. If you think we had “fun” AND “what”… well then I feel so good about that.)

So, here I was…

Working hard to get my fill (it wasn’t really that hard at all)
Everybody wants a thrill (isn’t that just so cute of everybody?)
Betting anything to roll the dice just one more time (I once bet a tube of I Am Not A Blogger flavored lipgloss)
Some will win, some will lose (except we all won, right?)
Some are born to sing the blues (oy! tell me about it)
Oh the movie never ends (I don’t want our love to end)

Okay, fine, by now you’ve figured out I stole the lyrics to Journey’s Small Town Girl.

So now I am a liar. And a thief.

But I was only lying about being a thief.  

Hahahahahahahahaha… that’s my all-time favorite George Clooney line.

Where was I? Damn! Things never change. I am the same person I’ve always been:

A scattered, lying, stealing, lip-gloss loving, cheese danish eating, blog writing…

Smart Ass.

Which, of course, I blame on my father, who bears an uncanny resemblance to George Clooney, don’t you think?

I’m trying really hard NOT to make this a slow and painful break up.

But clearly I’ve got one foot here and one foot there.

Please say you’ll come. Please please please. (oh dear, forgot to add beggar to the list of lyin’ and cheatin’ etc.)

I’m also vain.

Hey, YOU’RE so vain.

You probably think this blog is about you.

Don’t you?

Don’t you?

(if I could I would put the sound of a VERY LOUD BUZZER here)

Because, my lovely one, if you’ve learned nothing else after all of our years together… 

… it’s ALWAYS all about me. 

So please get your ass over HERE and make sure we stay together. 

Forever. 

I cannot bear to live without you. 

Mayday. Help! I Can’t Sleep.

This is how I woke up this morning.

It’s how I wake up most mornings these days.

The problem is, it’s 3:28 a.m.

And I’m awake.

Every morning.

At 3:28.

I wake up.

Technically it’s morning.

But I’m not interested in technicalities.

I just want to sleep.

Like Thurston Howell the Freakin’ Fourth. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.  Every night.

What is WRONG with him?

I want him to wake up and talk to me.

I want to wake him up so he can experience mind-numbing boredom the depths of which are immeasurable and intolerable and indefatigable.  If I can’t sleep I don’t think Thursty should either.

It’s now 3:29 a.m.

I kill you

I seriously want to kill him!

The problem is that I have sooooooo much stuff in my head these days.

I think I need a bigger head.

ruh roh

 

The real problem is that I just made that up (the part about all the stuff in my head) and called it a problem. Because during normal human waking hours, it’s not a problem at all.

But from the perspective of a wild-eyed crazy woman whose husband is out partying with The Sandman, this blows.  No matter how you look at the facts here, this sucks. And blows.

So, let’s look at (just) the facts ma’am:

1) It’s now 3:30 a.m.

2) Birds are still sleeping

3) My children are sleeping

4) The hairy ManBear beside me is busy sleeping.

5) Everyone else in the United States of America and Canada and even Ashtabula, Ohio, is pretty much sleeping.

6) I am not sleeping.

7) I am the complete opposite of sleeping.

8) Vogue magazine is expecting me to do a cover shoot today during normal business hours.

9) Whatshisface has just blurted out, “What’s for dinner?” What the…

10) It’s 3:31. Ay. Em. In the morning/middle of the night.

“O Sleep, O Gentle Sleep, Natures Soft Nurse, How Have I Frightened Thee, That Thou No More Wilt Weigh my Eye-Lids Down And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness?”

Or, to paraphrase Shakespeare:

“Yo! Sleep!. Why’d You Gotsta be Such a Pain in the Ass?  Weigh Down My Eye-lids for Cryin’  Out Loud!”

And so I wait.

And you know I finally nod off just when it’s time for everyone else to wake up.

The people at Vogue are not going to be happy when they see me today.

But hey, it’s nothin’ a little concealer and a dab of lip gloss can’t fix though, right?

Bring it Annie!

Oh, and any suggestions for curing intermittent insomnia are welcome.

_____________________

Hey kids, you know I’ve moved right?  And I really wanna take you with me. You’re coming, are you not?  You’d bloody well better come or I’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming.

So, go HERE and put your name/email into the little thingy on the sidebar that says “Gimmee your email” and then we can all sleep at night knowing you will continue to receive my blog. Um, well, YOU can sleep. I’ll just be up, staring at the ManBear.

step away from the refrigerator

How many times have you done this with the refrigerator…

You know you’re not hungry. 

Yet you keep going back for more. 

Well at least somebody finally had the wherewithal to stand up and speak the truth. 

Even if it was a stupid fridge. 

That can’t really speak. 

Isn’t it funny how we say stuff like that to ourselves… 

“The fridge is my friend.” 

“The food was calling my name.”

“The scale told me I was fat.” 

REALLY?  

C’mon, let’s tell ourselves the truth my lovelies. 

Who’s really telling you this stuff?

‘Cause I’m guessing it’s your inner Laverne.  Or maybe Shirley.  

Don’t fall for it.  They’re just messin’ with ya.  

It’s their modus operandi. 

They think they’re helping you but they’re not.  Because they’re actually children who live in your mind.  They tell you things from a child’s perspective.  Your childhood perspective.  

Basically, Laverne and Shirley are a couple o’ freaks. We need to love them, despite their childish ways. 

And because…

You are an adult now. 

You are all grown up. 

You don’t speak to food, or the refrigerator, or the scale. 

You speak to You. 

You can start to speak the truth.  Your truth. 

What’s your truth? 

What are you really hungry for? 

A fellow adult I know and love and admire once told me (something like):

If hunger isn’t really the freakin’ problem, the freakin’ frig is not going to be the freakin’ solution.  

Find the solution. 

Live your life. 

Get your ass outta the fridge. 

——-

Hey there my fellow smart asses…. I’m moving soon.  I hope you’re on My Shit List!  Go over to my new website and sign up so that you never miss one of my amazing, intuitive, life-changing, blog posts!

See you on the other side, Chicas!

 

For Dana

(This re-post is dedicated, with love, to my dear friend Dana, who is asking The Universe a whole lot of questions right now.)

I have been having an affair for some time now.

With The Universe.

Don’t worry, my husband, Thurston Howell the Fourth, knows all about it. In fact, he’s totally fine with it.  He understands and accepts that there’s no fighting a love like this!

Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband a lot. He’s the absolute best man for me on the whole planet. There’s just one thing.

He’s only human.

Still, my Thursty brought sexy back long before Justin Timberlake. And you can surely see why, right?  Is he not absolutely adorable? Incidentally, that scar on his cheek is from the time he saved me from a giant 420-pound coconut crab (a.k.a. Birgus latro), the largest anthropod in the world.  (Actually, Thurston doesn’t smoke, but I think the cigarette makes him look exactly like the Marlboro Man.  Smokin’ hot, don’t you think?)

Did I just digress or what? It happens every time I talk about my little Scarface. So, let’s get back to my love affair with the Universe, shall we?

‘Cause that thing is B-I-G!

Don’t laugh but I once wrote the Universe a love letter. I’ll share it with you.

It’s kinda embarrassing but, who cares?

And guess what?  The Universe wrote me back! By email. I am not sh!ttin’ you. This is the email:

A Note from the Universe
Inbox
TUT/The Universe
 Reply |The Universe to theworstmother 
show details Oct 5

 TWM, I can’t even remember the last time I was this excited for you over all that you’re on the verge of doing, being, and having.
Just sayin’ - 
    The Universe

ps: actually, there was that one time, just before this very life began….!

The look on my face was complete and utter WTF? 

Even the sun was impressed.

I was so excited. I was on the verge of something. Something big. And the Universe has known about this all along?

Even before I got here?

doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo

That’s some crazy sh!t, Batman.

And then I had this ultra cool thought:

The Universe Has My Back

Yup, the Universe has my back every second of every minute of every day. In fact, I came to realize that I didn’t have to know EVERYTHING (what a relief!).

And–I came to trust that the Universe always always knows what it is doing. Even when things don’t make sense. After all, something that big must know what it’s doing, right?

So now, when I have a problem I can’t figure out, I just hand it over to the Universe to take care of. It’s like having a virtual assistant.

No matter how many problems I present it with, the Universe listens patiently, without judgment, while holding a great big space (pun intended) for me to dump the contents of my endless mind poop.

And The Universe just keeps on listening. Now that’s what I call having excellent listening skills.

And then, after I get everything off my chest, I just wait around. But in a good way. I do stuff to take care of me. 

And I let The Big U do the heavy lifting for me.

And without fail the Universe sends me The Answer.

Sometimes when I least expect it.

Just like that, The Answer pops into my head. When I’m not thinking.

It’s not always the answer I would have predicted, or expected. Sometimes it’s downright bizarre. Other times I don’t like the answer.

One time, the answer was simply “Yes“.  That’s it. So, I said, “yes”.  And it worked! (I always know it’s the right answer because it just feels right).

And that is why I am in mad love with the Universe.

It always knows what’s best for me.

Even when– especially when –I don’t.

Hey, if you want to get notes from the Universe, go here.

Have fun.

And remember, the Universe is all mine.

But we can share.

**Note back to Universe: Thanks for sending Thurston to me. He is the love of my life.

 

we were girls first

I am such a girl.

Seriously, I love being a girl.  

When/why/how did it become a rule that you could call women many things, but never girls? 

Yes, I am a woman, but I have no time for such technicalities.  

I used to. Believe me, I was one of the ones who thought being called a girl was a no-no. 

If you want to play with the big boys, you’ve got to start acting like one. 

Huh?

I saw the spoon. I let it feed me. 

Being spoon-fed your thoughts is helpful when you’re young and finding your way.

MAYBE.

But sooner or later it behooves us girls to start questioning those thoughts. 

Some of those thoughts are so damn painful.  And mean.

We’ve got to stand up and say…

I wanna cry when I wanna cry because I just plain wanna. Please don’t tell me not to cry. 

I wanna wear girlie things ALL THE TIME.  Even when I’m kicking somebody’s ass. (My kicks are so girlie though. The heels help.)

I want to feel my emotions.  It’s what girls do.

I want to ride a girls’ bike. 

I want to play house, still.  I love playing house in my house. 

My children recently bought me my favorite childhood doll from e-bay.  I bawled my eyes out.  

Just. Like. A. Girl. 

It was so amazing. Thumbelina now sits in my office with me. I will never hide her from anyone. 

And, by the way, I don’t go around telling the wonderful boys in my life that they should cry and emote and run like a girl.

Because they’re not girls.

But my star athlete daughter, who runs and plays like an athlete, is told she runs and plays like a boy.  

Wait. What?

Oh dear. My emotions are getting to me.

Good Lord, could it be The Vapors?

I just want to be who I am. 

I am a girl.

I’m soft and tender-hearted and ca-razy and strong and mighty and tough as nails. 

And still, I am not a cook. 

We were girls first, girlies.

Pass it on. 

————————-

The Fine Print

You’ve checked out my websiteinprogress and you’re wondering when it’s going to be finished.

I know, it’s still a little rough around the edges. I’m working on it! But that shouldn’t stop you from getting on The Shit List. All the cool, WORST people are.

In addition to my regular coaching practice, I am offering mentoring programs for coaches.  This week I’ll be wrapping up teaching coach cadets at The Life Coach School alongside coach extraordinaire, Brooke Castillo, who’s always breaking bad.  Whether you’re just starting out and need some support in building your coaching skills, or you need some help in getting your website/blog established, I can help you find your voice.  I know where they hide the voices.  For more info visit me HERE where you can contact me  directly.

BTW: I realize I used the word “behooves” in this post. That’s just so somethin’ somethin’, isn’t it?