Tag Archives: Self-Help

Meet The Mayor of Crazie Town

Hello, my long-lost readers.


You weren’t lost, I was.

???? Lost

You may be asking, WTF?  Why did The Mayor go from writing a hilariously funny and entertaining post every week, to barely a dozen over the last two years?

That is an excellent question and one I’ve been trying to answer for…well, the last two years.

I could tell you a lot of stuff happened, like:

My dad died,

and then;

My favorite aunt died,

and then;

My dog died,

and then;

We moved into the house from hell,

and then;

My husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer,

and then…

And then, I got stuck in Child’s Pose.  Literally.  Knees to chest, forehead pinned to a yoga mat.

My first yoga class in years and, unable to stand in Warrior 1, 2 or 3, I folded myself into Child’s Pose to wait for a position I could manage.  The problem became apparent immediately.  Once I arranged myself into Child’s Pose, huge crocodile tears rolled down my face and plopped onto the mat.  As the puddle of tears grew, the salty drops splashed back up onto my cheeks.

“Let’s continue our Vinyasa,” the teacher murmured to the class while tucking a pile of tissues next to me.  “Downward Dog…to Plank…to Cobra.”

I pushed up to try a Downward Dog but, the tears traveled upside down across my forehead and added to the growing dark patch on my purple mat.  Back to Child’s Pose, where I continued to weep silently until the class was over.

That was it.  I’m done.

I’m actually tired of being sad.

Khalil Gibran wrote: “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”

I figure by now, my life can hold a shit-load of joy.

For example, this brings me joy.

Blue Mayor

I’ve spent a small fortune at Shutterstock and thought it would be better to pay an artist I’ve actually met.  This is a creation from one of the extremely talented members of the WTF Critique Group.  Annie is an artist, a writer, an art critic and a world traveler.  I hate her awesome talent.  I think she has awesome talent!

I asked her to make a drawing that looks like me but add a top hat.

Done and done.

Meet the Mayor of Crazie Town. She confirmed that hilariously funny and entertaining blog posts will soon follow.


Somewhere along the line – after I’d rinsed and re-rinsed the shampoo from my hair – I realized I couldn’t leave the shower


If you could crack open my crazy head, you’d be surprised what you’d find. Well, maybe the lifelong residents of Crazie Town wouldn’t, but you new guys? You’d be surprised.

For example, a few years ago, I experienced a bout of depression. Nothing super-serious, like requiring the purchase of a straight jacket or anything. Just an overwhelming feeling of listlessness.

It started when I had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Wandering around the house in my pajamas, I took long naps in the afternoon and most of my sentences were barely intelligible.

“Feeling better?” My husband, John, asked each day as he picked up the plethora of snotty tissues from around the vault I’d built in our bed.

“Uh-uh,” I answered.

“Any chance you want something for dinner?”


“Maybe we could take a walk. Some fresh air will do you good.”


Spending my day in the bed went on long enough for me to hone my listening skills to sonar submarine levels. The moment I heard the back door open, indicating that John was home, I jumped out of bed. shutterstock_70376086 copy Smoothing the covers, I’d run to the bathroom to flush the toilet and pull my robe tight as he walked in the room.

One day I looked in the mirror to see, on the lapel of my bathrobe, last week’s Chinese take out next to a blob of chocolate frosting I’d had for breakfast. I stared up at the ceiling trying to remember the last time I’d taken a shower.

shutterstock_88354360My bossy voice spoke up — the one that knows what everyone around me should and shouldn’t be doing. Only, this time she was talking to me and insisting that I march into the shower and start scrubbing.

As I stood under the scorching water, I sighed with contentment – happy to be stripping off the layers of grime. But, somewhere along the line – after I’d rinsed and re-rinsed the shampoo from my hair – I realized I couldn’t leave the shower.

“Of course you can,” Bossy Voice said.” Just turn off the water and step out.”

I pictured myself reaching for the faucet handles and then … well, that was the problem. The thought of the exertion it would take to dry myself off was just too overwhelming.
I remained in the shower while the water changed from hot to tepid. Even knowing that within minutes the water would be freezing, I stood there, postponing the gargantuan task of towel drying.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Bossy Voice chastised me. “And, you’ll be sorry when that cold water hits you.”

“I’m fine,” I whined. The first pellets of ice pummeled my skin and I yelped. Leaping out of the shower I decided I would always listen to Bossy Voice.

Wrapped in a towel, I pulled on my filthy bathrobe, crawled under the covers and slept until I heard the back door open.

Bossy Voice told me to show John I could get out of bed.

“Uh-uh,” I mumbled forgetting my commitment to Bossy Voice. I rolled over, pulling the covers around my head.

John peeled back a layer of blanket and whispered, “It’s a beautiful day outside. Maybe a drive would cheer you up.”

“Don’t think so,” I muttered.

“I’ll get you a hot fudge sundae,” he wheedled.

I rolled over and cracked an eye-lid. “With nuts?”

“And whipped cream.”

My eyelid clamped shut. “Don’t like whipped cream.” I started to roll away from him.

“I meant extra nuts,” he said “EXTRA NUTS!”

Keeping my eyes shut I said, “Did you just call me extra nuts?”

“I….no…I meant…”

“Kidding,” I said, opening my eyes.

He clasped my hand and gave it a tug. “Come on!” He pulled me through the house, toward the garage.

Fortunately Sonic didn’t have a dress code.