Do you feel like the wheels could come off at any moment?  I’ve suddenly realized there are people that are put together and there are those that are falling apart.  Much to my dismay and distaste, I might have to admit that I’m always one step away from the trash heap.  I only hope you can say better for yourself.

Do you know those people that have every hair in place in the middle of a tsunami wind?  Or the ones that eat a delicate side salad as their whole meal with a glass of wine?  Or the person that has a retirement fund they’ve been nesting on since the age of 23, have a stock portfolio you’d kill for, and even more sickeningly, they actually understand all about it?  Yeah, I know those people.  They sit in first class.  They drink skim lattes and have their underwear ironed.  They own a vacation home in the Hamptons and their kids have matching hand-knitted sweaters made by a personal tailor.  Okay, maybe that’s a little drastic, but you know those people who look like they just walked off a magazine cover and represent the classic, rich lifestyle even if they’re in debt by the millions.

And, yes, I’m jealous, because I realized that at my very best, I will never hold a candle to them.  At my best, I can walk down a hallway without tripping on high heels and at my worst, I’m going to skin my chin when I fall on the scratchy-ass doormat.  Maybe you can identify.  Are you the person who always carries one of those Tide-to-Go markers in your purse?  Do you pack an extra outfit in your car for when you fall in a lake or spill wine down the front of your shirt?  Are you always the one that steps in dog crap or bubblegum abandoned on the sidewalk?  Do your khakis always look wrinkled and is your wallet always puking up receipts?  Yeah, tell me I’m not alone. 

I always hear about girls that get called hot messes, but the only way I’m a hot mess is if they’re referring to me sweating so hard that it pours off my body like a fountain in Italy.  Mess:  Yes.  Hot:  only in temperature.  I’m fascinated by those people that can get out of bed and look like a rock star.  And I hate those people who can scoop crap all day at the state fair in their tight white shirts and still be made-up and semi-clean at the end of the day.  Why do I hate them?  Because I guarantee you that by the end of the day, I’ve sweat through every layer I have on, my make-up has melted off (if I even bothered to put any on), and I have more black under my fingernails than Johnny Cash could cover his body with.  Let’s just say it ain’t pretty when I work.  Unfortunately, it shows when I work.  It streaks down the front of my shirts.  It covers my shoes.  And it leaves me channeling Pig Pen, the Peanuts character.  The worst part is when some other girl walks up and says how “icky” she feels even though she’s drop dead gorgeous, hasn’t gained an ounce since high school, and her make-up looks fresher than ice water just out of the cooler on a hot day.  Damn those girls!

My best friend from my cattle showing days and I were always outnumbered.  The guy to girl ratio was pretty one-sided in the old days, not so much anymore, but we could never figure out how the pretty girls stayed clean.  And quite frankly, I still don’t know.   For the life of me, I don’t know how little-miss-white-sleeveless-shirt still has a white shirt at the end of the day.  Mine would be pit-stained and a dirt-covered grey at best.  At worst, it’d have crap stains or blood from cutting myself on some random fan or something, too.  Have I learned to accept this?  Yes.  Will I ever enjoy being the disaster area?  No.  But I do know this:  it all washes out in the end…in the shower, in the washing machine, or under the hydrant hose.

So, no worries, you can have your shit together or you can let the shit fall where it may.  And either way, somebody out there will still want you around.

thanks to for the pig pen pic