Will changing the ugly look of this website every day satisfy NaBloPoMo?  I’m so tired of looking at this thing.  But look!  This theme has a number beside every month of the archive that clearly shows how my posts are declining.  SCORE!  I have 108 days until I can kill this website.  No way to tell if that plan will change.

I’m in a really fucking awful mood this morning.

HATE.

I woke up at 8:15 this morning after having a very crappy night of sleep.  Short of adding another script to my life this is what I’m left with.  I haven’t been awake this early on weekend unless I was still up!  This daylight on Saturday thing is new to me.

 So what is there to do at the crack of dawn…  OH!  I could redesign my website.  Yeah, as you can see it’s a work in progres.  No worries, that orange link on blue background to the right is giving me a seizure too.  It shall be changed when I figure out how…

For now I’m off to shop for clothes, my least favorite chore of adulthood.  I’d seriously rather do my taxes then shop for clothes.  Wish me luck.

I really suck at NaBloPoMo this year.

Today was a big, long day of waiting.  Moving from room to room, moments of anxiety and then many more monents spent waiting.  All day waiting.  It’s surprising how a day of waiting can be more tiring the a day at work.  But, got good news, well the best the circumstances could offer, and lots of people watching.  Cops?  Mostly hot.  Boys in ties?  Nearly always hot.  People waiting in the same rooms we were?  FREAKS.  Downtown Phoenix covered in ballsy birds?  Quite panic inducing.

Then I stuffed my poor stomach with as many oysters and shrimp as it could handle.

Now I’m studying.

Next I watch Dancing with the Stars.  (Maksim?  HOT!)

Lastly I cram until I literally fall asleep on the books.

Isn’t life interesting when all I do is study?  (There is no right or wrong answer to that question strangely enough.)

Tonight my parents had an improptu slide night.  Dad had cleaned out the storage unit and found the old school projector and box of slides.  Let’s review this stroll down memory lane, shall we? 

Majority of people I don’t recognize.   Most are hippies.

Multiply family members in overalls.

Two stories of unexpected family members doing drugs.

Number of times my mother turned to me and asked “Wasn’t your dad hot?”  Lost count, however ONE is TOO MANY!

One baby cow name Herbie.  That my parents RAISED and then ATE.

Final Tally:  Six bongs.  Two bags of pot.  Two boxes of pot on tables.  One slide of father holding large mushroom.  Two slides mother admits she is not sober.

One GIANT horse dong.  Three weiners, two on babies, one on a FULL GROWN MAN.  (Please warn me when we get to the nude beach slides, kthxbye.)

One picture of father in black mesh tank top.

90% of the shots of my father he is in short shorts.  Except for the one where he’s naked.

One incident of me screaming “I do not want to see my parents genitals, put the special box away or I won’t come back inside!”

So, an eventful night.  Their only excuse?  It was the seventies.  Can’t be too hard on them, someday when my kids find my stash of photos from the past three  years I’ll have some explaining to do as well!

Yesterday I accidently told my very best friend a secret I’ve been keeping from him for our entire eleven year relationship.  Any guilt I should have felt for keeping a secret from the person who understands me the most on this planet was wiped away because this secret was to protect him.  The last thing I ever want to do to him is cause him pain, to make him worry, to take him back to one of the worst times in his life.  And last night I blew that out of the water.

The instant it was too late to take back that rambling text I knew I’d made a huge mistake.  I hoped that he would breeze right over those two words and take in the whole of the text:  I’m trying.  He didn’t, those words jumped out at him, as they would for any person who’d lived it before.  I’d give anything to take back that misstep and leave him believing that it’s not that bad.  He says it’s okay, he says it’s different this time because I am trying.  I know that he has to tell himself that.  I hope that he believes me when I say I am trying, I’m fighting this battle with everything I have left.  He’s my inspiration to never, ever let this go further.

I’ve protected him from this for eleven years…  I can only hope that he’s not worrying about the rest of our lives now.

*****Notes*****

I’m pretty irked at myself for already messing up NaBloPoMo.  Day three?  I miss day three!  I never realized how busy a person could be when they never leave their house.  Yesterday was phone calls, and reassuring people, and not even being able to finish one movie because of the worry I am causing people.  Not only do I not want to leave my house any more, but I want to stop talking about the changes I am currently going through.  Spoken from the Queen of Worrying:  Stop worrying about me.  It is a waste of your time and energy and it makes me feel like a leper. 

I know that this is annoyingly defensive, and I apologize for that.  My writing has always been on the vague side, I’m not good with opening up.  Just know those two words I mentioned above have nothing to do with hurting myself so there is ZERO need for people to worry about me at this point.  I know that it comes out of love, and I appreciate that, but there’s no reason for other people to fall down the worry hole.  Trust me, I’ve got that covered.

I’m in the stairwell of a parking garage.  I’ve been missing Chinese food something fierce and we decide to risk P.F. Chang’s to satiate me.  We’d just had one of the most unsatisfying meals of my life.  They’re allowed to call that Chinese food?

We stop dead in our tracks on the landing between floors as he destroys my world with four words.  I stand frozen, white knuckling the hand rail, as reality tries to break through.

BOOM!  He tricked me.

BOOM!  I won’t stay here.

BOOM!  I’ll have to do this alone.

BOOM!  My future is over.

And then it’s done, it’s just over.  It’s like a cease fire without the discussion.  There’s nothing but silence.  We spend days with no words, unscheduled solo trips to Williamsburg, and opposing work schedules.  If I don’t acknowledge this it simply is not happening.

Three years later a boy asks me on a date.  I’m already trying to think of ways to dodge it when he offers to take me to P.F. Chang’s.  Of all places!  It wasn’t difficult to turn that down, I’ll never eat there again.  I will never relive that again.  Though I have wondered, would it be any different if the food had been good?

36.843415, -76.133887

The realization hit me like a truck:  I have to write today!  Ok, just breathe, this is totally manageable.  I can do this.  Yes, I’m 34 times crazier then when I did this last year, which was painful, but I can do this.  I won’t be the first person to spew crazy all over the internet.

Let’s get a few things clear though, mostly to the members of my awesome family that happen to read this site.  I need to write.  I need to be able to write openly, honestly and freely without worrying that I’m worrying you.  Yes, the writing lately has been a bit depressing.  That’s because I’m struggling.  It’s also a bit difficult to write interesting blog posts about happy things.  Add in the fact that the happiest things about my day were nephews in costume and a Kit Kat bar and we venture far into the land of BORING.  I am struggling.  I’ve admitted that to myself and it really is time for the people in my life (And all the strangers on the internet, hello!) to start accepting that.  I can’t censor myself here because it worries the people that love me.  Love me enough to know that I have to get through this and sometimes that means spilling my guts all over the interweb.  Just view it as an interesting personality quirk.

Ok, now that we’ve opened that can of worms let’s just brace ourselves for the month ahead.  I tried desperately to think of a theme for this month, basically an easy cheat to get 30 days of posts out of.  I thought of three half themes and I’ll probably dabble in each.  Some are happy and some are sad and some are just stories that I have no emotion for but feel like telling.  In no particular order of course.  It’s going to be a bumpy ride here the next 30 days, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to getting back behind this dashboard.

I have to say, I am absolutely dumbfounded that I have managed to do this NaBloPoMo thing.  I have posted the last thirty two days in a row.  Seriously, I have pulled thirty two things out of my ass and displayed them on the internet!  I deserve a vacation!  Which is perfect, since I leave this morning for a week of vacation.  I can’t wait, it will be nice to get a change of scenery.

It will also make finishing up the next six days of NaBloPoMo on this site impossible, which is why I’m going to cheat!  Yes, I’m a cheater!  Since there is no way for me to access this website while away from home I’m just going to be sending things to the flickr stream.  I guess captions to crappy cell phone pictures isn’t the kind of quality expected by NaBloPoMo, but really?  I’m all tapped out here, I’ve already posted 30+ days in a row, which is more then I’ve done in the last five months.  And I’m on vacation.  And you don’t pay me to be interesting.  Honestly, the next six days were probably going to be pictures or drivel about useless daytime TV any way.

So, check the flickr, that’s where I’ll be.  Well, technically I’ll be in Florida, but you know what I mean.  I’ll see ya in December!

Thanksgiving was awesome.  Here are just a few of the things I’m thankful for.  (And yes we ate Thanksgiving dinner on the patio, AZ is awesome, it’s okay to be jealous.)

Every year someone retells the same story.  One of my elementary school teachers asked everyone in the class to tell what their family’s Thanksgiving Day tradition was.  I said that the tradition in our family was to wear pants with expandable waist bands.  Whenever someone wears non-expandable pants they get chided, “Don’t you know the tradition?” 

This year few of us wore the traditional attire, myself included.  But it works out fine, I’m extremely lucky, and thankful, to have a family that won’t bat an eye when you throw back too much stuffing and have to pop that top button.