Much Love To You On Christmas

Hey you guys.  Before I forget or have too much of the Christmas Spirits, I wanted to say thank you for helping contribute to the weirdness that is my life.  Whether it's in a small part, occasionally, or every other Tuesday when I'm on the verge of peeing myself, howling with laughter.  I say it every year, and I mean it just the same; I'm nothing without good friends, laughter, tough love, heated debates, and the occasional pinch on the bum.  Y'all keep the poly in polymath.  Merry Christmas.

The Gift of Loved Ones

My insurance company would tell you I live in a blighted area.  To hear me talk about the state of the apartment the day I moved in, you’d think it was located in downtown Beirut.  After the fun with the domestic violence unit and case of microwave popcorn that got us through the summer of tough love, you'd think I'd know all the beat cops by name.  However, despite all this, I'm probably the happiest I've ever been.

My One Night Stand with the Mexican Farmacia

The only thing that would have made the illusion that the inside of my head is an awful lot like an old school arcade better would be the nostalgic sound of a pinball game in play.  As I was stepping off the low speed treadmill workstation at work this morning, I noticed that my right hip was a bit sore, but not as sore as it could have been, having slept on the equivalent of a queen sized marshmallow overnight.  In years past, if I wasn’t sleeping on some plywood with a couple of cottonballs hot glued to the top of it, I’d be in a world of literal hurt in the morning.  

The Practical Mini

It’s Dec 16th, 2012, and there’s snow falling outside.  Not enough to have to shovel, or to even really stick yet, but the city noise is dampened, and kids out there have their hopes for a white Christmas renewed.  I figured, there’s no better time to go over why I have a Mini Cooper as my daily driver than when people are going to start considering it a foolish choice.

Week of Epic Proportions

The second to last week of October 2010 managed to cram a whole lot of stories into 7 short days.  On the 23rd, my short but intense relationship with Flyboy came to an end when he packed up the stuff I had left at his apartment, delivered them to my house, and told me that he didn’t see me in his life a year from now, much less next month.  I spent that evening in an “is that your bellybutton?” shirt, enjoying a drink or two with some ladies that are dear to me.  By Monday, I was more or less ok.  I’d come to the conclusion that since he was the first thing I could call a relationship I’d had since I’d opted for divorce, that I had been nearly ready to say I love you to the feeling I had around him, not the boy himself.

Which was good, because nobody likes a mopey birthday girl.  I ushered in the big three three two days after being dumped, and without the “bag of shit with penises on it” I had been threatened with if I didn’t tell Flyboy what I wanted.  (He was under the impression that I was only telling him what he wanted to hear when I said I didn’t have anything I wanted or needed, that if he got me something, it would be a pleasant surprise and not a necessity.  Really, I had a 3 bedroom house stuffed to the gills at the time.  I didn’t need anything else and didn’t give a damn about his paycheck.)  I can’t remember what I did to celebrate.  I’m not sure if that means I didn’t do anything, or I just had so much to drink that I blacked out.  Either way, it was the perfect setup for Tuesday when the legal system gave me the best birthday present ever.