Oh, Robby Benson

Since beginning to see Dr. Headshrinker I have on more than one occasion described him as looking like Robby Benson.  Now, you have to realize my age and reference point in pop culture.

So, when I say "Dr, Headshrinker looks like Robby Benson!", this is what I mean and it is a very good thing:

However, lately, I have become suspicious of just how Robby Benson may be looking and aging because people would say all concerned-like with a sideways look, "Young Robby Benson; not NOW Robby Benson, right?!"

I would kinda blindly and embarrassingly say, "Well, yeah, of course.  Duh."  And then I would think WTF? How could Robby Benson not look good.

Hmmmph...

I ain't judging well, maybe a little.

And those eyes oh, those eyes are still the same.

But, Robby Benson, what is going on?  There is a whole generation of young ladies who do not understand my Sand Castles and Running Brave references of the late '70s and early '80s.  So, you are not doing yourself any favors not keeping yourself up, Robby Benson.

I gotta keep myself up, the Caveman has to keep himself up; for chrissake, we ALL gotta keep ourselves up.  And so do you, Robby Benson.  Nobody gets to ride for free.

Just saying.

xoxo Darya

There is Always Tomorrow

Boy-oh-boy, I had a day like no other--I won't bore you with the details.  But, suffice to say, I cried so hard I threw-up.  Yep.  I sobbed and coughed and choked and up-chucked just like a two-year-old.

And it wasn't even 10 o'clock in the morning.

Eventually, I made it through my day; left the hospital and drove home; put the garbage cans away so the Caveman wouldn't have to do it when he got home from the gym I figured I owed him that much for snotting all over his shoulder during my cry-fest earlier and I looked down at my freesias blooming .

And this is what I saw.  Nature at its finest.  A metaphor for life *sighing with a twinkle in my eye.

And then the wind blew and the butterfly fluttered out of the flower.  Dead.

Well, there is always tomorrow.  Amirite.

xoxo Darya

20 Questions - Fun for All

One of my favorite bloggers, Maegan Tintari at lovemaegan.com whom I have been following daily for quite some time, but have only just recently had the nerve to engage via her comments section and Instagram, has posted this 20 Questions Q&A originally done with Sarah Jessica Parker at Marie Claire.

Because this is an excellent opportunity to share with my readers AND also because it seemed appropriate that I manufacture at least some kinda blog content that did NOT reference my daily mental status, these 20 Questions seemed interesting and fun, so I took a stab at them.  I freely admit that I ain't no SJP, hell I ain't no Maegan Tintari, either.  Oh, and don't be thinking I got the big pants for myself either--I know my place in the blogosphere, people.

So, I am sharing with you my own Q&A, and most importantly, I ask that you share your answers either at xoxo Darya Facebook Page or here in the comments section of my little bloggity blog or you can email me at xoxodarya@gmail.com.

Have fun and enjoy!


xoxo Darya



1.   What brings you the greatest joy?   Without a doubt or even a moment's hesitation--my little family.

2.   What are your vices?   To this day, I have a horrible and almost child-like sweet tooth.  And I still eat like a latchkey kid--over the sink; Cheetos for breakfast; cereal for dinner.  Yeah, that sorta thing.  I am a wretched example of a grown-ass woman.

3.   What is on your nightstand?  Journals for keeping track of the bulbs I plant and the Dummies books:  Blogging for Dummies, Twitter for Dummies and Facebook for Dummies.  As well as a my Original Darya picture and an iPhone Home that I swear if you put a gun to my head I could not figure out how to do anything with it other than charge my iPhone--clearly, I also need iPhone Homes for Dummies.

4.   Do you have a secret talent?  Nope!  I am a complete dud in the secret talent department.

5.   What is your greatest indulgence?  Without a doubt, my red 1969 Porsche 912.  I apologize up front for sounding so snotty--it was bought with my severance pay from a job I had for fifteen years and at times has been the only car I have owned and certainly the only one that was paid off.

6.   What should every woman try at least once in her life?  Have a professional portrait sitting done for yourself.

7.   What makes you laugh?  Literally, just about anything--I try to find humor in all things because my go-to emotions are sheer fright and constant worry.

8.   What is one thing people would be surprised to learn about you?  How much my insides do not match my outsides. Also, how much I wash my feet--I abhor dirty feet.

9.   What is on your bucket list?  I do not have a bucket list.

10.  What is on your feet right now?  They are bare.  See No. 8.

11.  How did you make your first dollar?  I cut a deal with my mother to clean the house and do laundry in exchange for a greater-than-usual allowance ($10 per week!) in order to buy more fabric and patterns to sew back-to-school clothes.  I think it worked out well for both of us!

12.  What superstition do you believe in?  I knock wood (usually my own head) three times when I say something that tempts fate.

13.  What items in your closet do your wear the most?  At this time of year, my after-work momiform is a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater and a pair of thongs.

14.  What is the best gift you have ever received?  A Tiffany 1837 Collection cuff bracelet--it is beyond precious to me.

15.  What is on your liquor shelf?  A shelf?  Are you kidding me?  I have a completely stocked wet bar at all times.  I want to provide you with whatever your heart desires.

16.  What is on your kitchen counter?  A basket of dozens of folded cloth napkins as we do not do paper; a bowl of fruit and a vintage milk glass dish containing two home grown camellias.

17.  What would you never leave home without?  Always a lipstick, my sunglasses, iPhone and that Tiffany cuff.

18.  What movie has the greatest ending?  I am embarrassed to say that I don't really watch movies.  But with Usual Suspects, I never, ever, EVER saw that coming!

19.  Who is on the guest list for your ideal dinner party?  Oprah Winfrey; my maternal grandmother as a young adult before she married and had children; the Caveman (my husband, not an actual caveman); William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles from the Thin Man movies; Coco Chanel.  I would definitely pull out a chair for Jesus Christ, but I think he might be pretty intense and intimidating as far as guests go.

20.  What is one thing you wished you had known when you were younger?   That I was worthy and that I deserved kindness from myself.  And that I was not and I am not fat my mind likes to play tricks with me and body image has sometimes been a problem.

The Better Me Project, Part I

No one has ever accused me of being a natural beauty.  Ever.  Oh, I was a cute enough baby and toddler.  But, eventually my mother's high palate and buck teeth and my father's wretchedly bad skin collided with my 1970's shag haircut and not a cool Sally Hershberger-shag, either.  Then, like a cherry on the top of my homely and awkward teenage cake I ended up with glasses. And believe-you-me, in 1977 glasses were not the cool hipster accessory to be wearing with adolescent skin, buck teeth and a bad shag haircut.

Eventually, my teeth were fixed and my skin break-outs were somewhat under control and I bought contact lenses. By my own admission, I am really not that bright probably because more than a few people felt free enough to step forward and convince me.  It was obvious that no one honestly believed that I had it in me to make it through college.  So, I didn't go then and saved us all the expense and embarrassment of me failing.

Like most young families in the 1960s, we weren't poor, but if there wasn't money for something then we went without it until we could afford it. There were no credit cards or shopping sprees or needless spending.  Ever.  And in all fairness, I always had what I needed, but deep in the very center of my chest in that hollow place where some people think my heart is supposed to reside I wanted something more.  Not like I simply wanted more stuff, but like I wanted something more than I had something my family could not provide for me.  I wanted an effortlessly prepossessing image to cover up all that homely maladroitness I saw when I looked in the mirror.

In an effort to off-set all of this teenage angst and ugliness, I focused on giving to myself what nature had so cruelly neglected to provide for me.  My remedy was to work hard at looking, at the very least, acceptable with aspirations of decent.  I bought Teen Miss and Seventeen and later Glamour and Vogue and even later as an adult InStyle and Elle and kept up with the season's lookbooks and worked hard to appear impeccable all of the time because I felt my margin of error was just so very slim.  These resources helped to show me how to become what I so desperately wanted:  To be beautiful and effortless and chic. They also showed me the way to my most prideful ruin:  the I-wants.

I am no longer an ugly and graceless teenager, but I still have the I-wants.  I am a grown-ass woman who knows that true beauty comes from the inside out not vice verse, and for the most part I honestly believe that.  But--and it's a big but--I still get caught-up with my teenage anxieties and the I-wants.  And lately, my regular low-level smoldering case of the I-wants has become one long insatiable and unsatisfying wantgasm.

Coinciding with the beginning of 2014, I am taking it back to basics.  This situation has gotten out of control and I have spent too much precious time perusing and coveting and thinking that just one more JCrew cashmerefuckingwhatever would be just what I needed to soothe away the old predispositions.  Word to the wise, people; it never does. This is why I conjured up The Better Me Project.

The rules are very simple.  I am to do no perusing, dreaming, coveting or shopping either online or in person for anything.  I am allowed to replace toiletries; prescriptions; tried-and-true cosmetics and hair products no experimenting with the newest or the greatest; I am allowed haircuts and color, as well as brow grooming because a girl can only inflict so much disturbing reality on those she loves.  I have not determined an end date as yet because I will know when I am done; I reserve the right to change the rules at any time to fit my life and my needs and my growth; however, I promise to not change the rules to my detriment.  Maybe these rules make sense to you, maybe they do not.  To me, they make perfect sense.

I have already been faced with a shopping/purchasing dilemma and I found it supremely difficult to walk away like, when I quit smoking kind-of-difficult.  But I just know that I will come out the other side a better Darya, or at the very least a Darya with a few bills paid off and some extra Benjamins in her savings account.

So, when you see me posting about The Better Me Project, now you will know, at least in part, what the hell I am talking about.  Wish me luck!  Feel free to cheer me on or at the very least please do not send me any catalogs or flash sale emails--I swear to you I am as fragile as a crippled kitten.

xoxo Darya

Here's the Deal...

...I am old;  I am a goddamn idiot;  I am not a programmer;  I do not know what I am doing;  I cannot afford to hire an entire IT team of developers and web designers.

Oh, and I just read that blogging officially died in 2013.

In spite of all that, I am trying to grow my little bloggity blog, anyway.

I know a lot a few of my fans friends keep having trouble simply signing up to receive my blog updates via email.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS, PEOPLE!!!!  But, please see the above first paragraph for any number of possible explanations.

I just opened up a Facebook Page for xoxo Darya, so I am hoping to link it here and then you can go like it there and then these goddamn annoying incredibly motivating and entertaining post updates can come right to your FB Newsfeed via the xoxo Darya fan page and then we can chat and be cyber-friends and solve my social awkwardness and then I can quit my soul sucking day job become a wildly successful blogger and tra la fucking la.

I am not totally sure how this going to work in reality, but in my head it is going to be beyond awesome.

Also, if you Tweet, join me @xoxoDarya and you can follow along and laugh condescendingly as I continually struggle to stay under 140 characters.  Or you can join me at my Instagram for even more useless crap and pictures of me in whatever boring-ass outfit I have concocted for myself to wear on any given day @xoxoxdarya and yes, I DO know there is an extra "x";  it is because I already own @xoxo_darya but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to disown it before I re-own it as myself--see paragraph one for further illustration of my knuckleheadedness.  And, well, if I am going to whore myself to social media in an effort to grow my little bloggity blog, then I couldn't leave Pinterest out even though I believe it to be the devil's playground but I don't judge; I just love.

Come on, it'll be fun--all the cool kids are doing it.

Whew...self-promotion is exhausting.

xoxo Darya

My Original Ride or Dies

I have had the unenviable reality of being uprooted and moved at some of the worst times in a developing young lady's life--5th grade, Freshman year and then again Senior year.  By my own free will, I married young and moved along with the military and had the Hero far from my hometown.  After Sgt. Airborne did his final deed of destruction, I returned "home" hurt and ashamed with nothing but the Hero, a car seat, a broken stroller and what was in the boxes I had mailed COD to my parent's front door.

I had no friends.

But Sister shared her friends and out of that crazy-assed cast of characters I found my next husband and his Ride or Dies.

The Urban Dictionary defines a Ride or Die as someone who is always by your side and will never leave.  They have your back no matter what.  They would do anything for you and will fight for you.  So, by definition alone these boys are my Ride or Dies, as well.  They have been there for the Caveman and the Hero and for me; I know for a fact they would Ride with me or they would Die for me--I just know that, forrealz.

They have babysat the Hero and dogsat my sweet Roxy girl; they have played softball on the same team as my Father and me; they have visited the Caveman and me in the hospital; they have picked us up from bars and broken down cars; they have helped us move into our homes; they have been there for the Hero's baptism and First Holy Communion and attended his fire academy graduation.  And I know that they will sit in the family pews right behind the Caveman and me on the day that the Hero is married and they will visit his wife when his own babies fall from heaven.  And then we will all switch places in those same pews when our own parents begin to leave us.

Papa Fig has been a staple in our little family for so long that I could have easily stood on his side of the alter when he married. Papa Fig would have been the Hero's official godfather at his baptism but the church got all high-and-mighty and said no, he had to be a "real" Catholic.  Whatevs.  He had the forethought to hook me up with his mother who became my mentor and future business partner and he made the hard phone calls when the Caveman's father died after 17 horrible whirlwind days.  
Debts that can never be repaid.

I have slept huddled on the beach in the mist of Mexico with the The River Rat and we spent many Taco Tuesdays at the Red Onion and in line waiting to get in to clubs on Friday nights.  He was the one who lent me $3600 to get my boobs done and I made a visit to his shop every single month for 36 months to pay him back $100.  Not to mention the odd $20 here and $60 there just to get diapers or food or put gas in my little Honda Civic.  In all honesty, he owns a little bit more than a piece of my heart.
I love him for that!

Big Pimpin' is the baller that bails our sorry asses out of jail literally and hooks us up with all kinds a cool shit.  I have no proof, but I have my suspicions that the Caveman extracted a promise from Big Pimpin' that he would always look after me should something ever tragically befall him.  Big Pimpin' has no blood family of his own left on the planet--except for the adorable mini-me children that Big Pimpin' and his bride have made for themselves--making it even more poignant that we roll deep.

And we do roll deep just not as often as before.

Even when it has been over a year since we were all in the same room at my 12/12/12 birthday party--it doesn't matter.  Just like the River Rat's wife reminded me, "We are such good friends--just with gaps."  She dubbed us gap friends.  She is my Gap Girl.  She is the one I have known the longest and whose child is closest in age to my own.  We were single mom's dating hound dogs, but they loved us and we loved them and we made it work.  I even made her wedding dress!  The Princess Bride is exactly ten years younger than myself and is so beautiful and so much Big Pimpin's dream girl it is almost spooky and the CEO is just that: She is the CEO of her own majorly successful design firm and has blessed Papa Fig with the only thing he ever really wanted in this life--three of his own beyond-beautiful children.  I have been there for a few of these boss bitches' children's conceptions and I have been around for almost all their births.  I love them all like my own child.

This is the real deal, people; this is what life and love and friendship and growing up and growing old together is all about.  Take it from me, when you are not lucky enough to have your own Ride or Dies, you gotta manufacture them or go out and steal them from someone else.

And you realize how important they are to have and to take care of and to cherish and to ride or die with.

xoxo Darya

Suck It 2013

I sat in front of my computer--which by-the-by is really having some technical difficulties and even Blogger is feeling a little like it is out to screw me--and the blank page of my little bloggity blog mocked me.  I was thinking and typing and erasing and typing some more and trying to come up with some truly inspiring and awesome words of wisdom to bid 2013 farewell and to usher in 2014 with grace and inspiration.  Hah! The only thing that, in all honestly, I could put down was, "Suck it 2013."  Really, Darya?  Really.

So, as midnight approached and I started to feel a little panicky, I literally hammered this out on my iPhone with my two prematurely arthritis and tendonitis encumbered thumbs as we sat in the drive-thru at Alberto's waiting for our two bean-and-cheese burritos--we are ballers, ya'all.  2014 is my new beginning.  I am cutting the dead wood and I am no longer pushing an ever-growing tangled rope of shit uphill.  So, here is my Alberto's missive in all its glory.  If you follow me on Facebook, no new news here.  Bear with me; I will get it together.  Promise.  I feel big things a-poppin in 2014.


A few words as we end the year:

I have worked hard and I have hardly worked; I have squatted and thrusted and turned my body around; I have recommitted my heart to love, my mind to learning and my skin to the proper use of sunscreen; I have been hurt and I have set about healing; I have nothing to be sorry for but I want to do oh-so-much better; I have cried and sworn and cursed at God and I have made futile deals with the devil.  2013 has been sad and hard and brutal and I long for an easier more beautiful and tranquil 2014.

These are my 2014 Darya-isms.

Happy New Year, Auld Lang Syne, Salud and Cheers!

xoxo Darya