Once upon a time, on a tan couch that I purchased at a garage sale for $75, in my first apartment (for which I had purchased the couch), I decided to be a punk.
I had just sent a beautiful boy home for good, a boy who knew me and loved me and wanted to be with me, could offer me a comfortable life, a boy who - ostensibly - wanted marry me. He told me that all other boys were assholes and he made fun of ugly girls, and I knew that meant that he was my ticket out of victimhood.
When I closed the door, I had a visiting gray cat and empty space in front of me, space that had once been dedicated to him but during which I was now determined to fuck up in all possible manners. I wanted to be a fucking PUNK and DRINK and do DRUGS and BAD THINGS. If you know me, you likely also know that most of those things did not happen.
What happened was a kind of slow punkery and fucking up, and I can only see it now, looking back. I fucked up in the opposite direction. I didn't let go and loosen up; pulled my internal strings so tight that they snapped and I burst, but quietly, and gradually, and isn't it fitting that I fucked up my plan to fuck up?
Did I do some exquisitely stupid shit? Absolutely. Would I take it back? Never. Not for the 20 pounds that I wish I didn't have on me, not for a guaranteed quota of sunny days on the beach with friends and a delicious breeze. Whereas Sunshine Sugar Punk was an aspiration two years ago - or whenever I started this blog - I'd like to think I've earned it now. Even if it's dumb. Maybe if I ever open a bakery, that's what I'll call it. And for Alyssa...it'll have a doormat that says FUCK THAT SHIT.
Love your website! Have you heard of Crazy Sexy Life? So many inspiring people there - you might find some amazing people that want to tell their very inspiring stories. Good luck, I think it's great what you're doing!
ReplyDeleteI would definately go to the bakery called Sunshine Sugar Punk ... love it.
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