Inadequacy, feelings of

I'm feeling a little small for my britches right now. 

In addition to learning my new MFA classmates are all super accomplished (Rolling Stone, The New York Times, Gourmet, entire fucking books), I am also feeling stressed about my wedding anniversary tomorrow.

What were the MFA peeps drinking when they admitted me into this program? I'm like the runt of the super-serious writers. Oh yeah, sure, some of them have blogs. Professionally designed blogs, highlighting their many published pieces of work.

In recent months, my most prestigious blog work has sent me to the confession booth, which in turn sent my priest to the confession booth. Oh! And I draw stick figures and water color impressions of my vajoojy.

Also, I use lots of made-up words, such as vajoojy. Wooooooo!

Maybe I'll be challenge to become better of writing.

Also? I'm the teensiest bit disappointed that none of the mentor writers are humor writers, because I'm afraid I'll be a little sheepish with my essay on how bakeries should deal with racists. I mean, sure, it's political, but is it really nonfiction?

I know, I know. I should grow a pair and stop whining. Argh. You people sound just like PHubby.

That asshole.

He's not an asshole. He's a cock-knocker.

Not really.

That prick gives the best gifts. Thoughtful, beautiful, delicate, treasured.

And I? Well ... I'm not the best gift-giver ever.

Some examples:

 - At least three wedding presents sat in my attic until one broke and two others were dusty and gross enough that I couldn't stand to give them to the recipients.

 - I still regret giving relatives a wedding gift inspired by their love of the hunt club.

I thought they were whimsical at the time, but thinking back on it, what does one do with silver "hunt cups" with stems the shape of hunted animals (deer, rabbit, fox) and a horse? When not in use, the cups can be turned on upside-down to display the heads right-side-up like little head-bells. I'll bet it's fun polishing all the little fur grooves.

Lesson here: stick to the registry.

 - No one ever says "aw" when they open a baby shower gift from me. Why? Because I've had fucking twins, and I know what people really need and that is: a battery charger, rechargeable batteries, little hooks that fit on a stroller handle to hold bags, reusable shopping bags, and hand lotion. Cute? Fuck no. Practical? Yes.

Oh, you say, oh, Sarah P, that is the worst gift ever. And to that, I say, "Fuck you, I used that shit all the time, and I say novenas for the people who gave us practical shit." Go fuck yourself with 27 receiving blankets, hoodie towels, and baby picture frames that will be useless in 12 months.

 - Senior year in high school, the girls all got each other presents for Christmas and graduation. For some reason, I thought to give everyone striped tank-tops for graduation, and for Christmas? Each person got a plain outfit, with one shared sweater. Not one for each. One sweater total. We were supposed to trade it around between us to keep us together.

I was so Sisterhood before the Traveling Pants.

(click to enlarge. twss.)

Did I mention I was wearing the sweater when I delivered them their tights and skirts, and that there were, like, eight or nine of us who were supposed to share it?

Again, I can't believe people hang out with me.

Each year since we've been married, PHubby has thoughtfully presented me with a gift according to the traditional guidelines of anniversaries.

The year it was crystal or leather? I got him a new belt. He got me a crystal jewelry holder for my nightstand.

This is our five-year anniversary, and everything has pretty much been planned for me.

He reserved a hotel room at an old, cozy hotel in a nearby city. The restaurant on the main floor is considered to be the best Irish pub in the city. Oh, that doesn't sound thoughtful, you say?

Maybe that's because you don't know that my grandparents loved being Irish, traveling to Ireland together, were married for a month shy of 68 years, and died just 13 days apart.

So, what are we going to do in this beautiful city? Oh, we're going on a champagne brunch cruise, using a gift certificate that was an anniversary gift from PHubby's parents a few years ago.

So, this leaves me to decide what I'm wearing and to choose a gift for him, which? Is unfair.

I mean, it's so easy for him this year. The traditional 5th anniversary gift is wood, and as Justin Timberlake and Adam Samberg taught us: