Stickwithitness

So... I don't blog any better than I journal. Whatev. I kinda banked on that when I started this thing. There have been days when I compose a blog in my brain, beginning to end, and then forget to type it out. And then forget about the blog completely. And the forget about the day completely. It's part of the sickness. Flakiness, eternal symptom of ADD.

I'd like to blame my schedule, but let's face it, I do nothing almost all day, most days. Lately I've been digging into this wedding planning business, and I fail at documenting that too.

There is a post, sitting, waiting patiently, that I need to finish, whether I think I can or not. And I need to finish it before the end of this month. I don't think I owe him that per se. I don't really owe him anything; I owe myself a little therapeutic purge. A real discussion about him and how his life, or lack thereof, still affects me twenty-five years later.

And whether or not one of the memorial candles on the altar will burn for him.

But DAMN I'm Debbie Downer today... I's gonna go back to bed and start this day over in a few hours.
Fair?
Fair.

Revisited Resolutions

So... it's be almost a year since I wrote this post...

Let's see how I did.

Shape up (why should this year be different from every other year of my adult life?).
FAIL...

Fix my problem with "da Benjamins."
Eh, could go either way. I'm getting better, but I don't think it's fixed.

Blog at least once a week.
To be fair, I do have more than 52 posts. Eh, more win than fail.

Meet Him. (No, not that Him. I'm not ready for Him. I mean Mr. Right.)
Win, big ugly beautiful hairy expensive amazing disgustingly wonderful win.

Become something meaningful.
This might be a draw. While I don't doubt I'm something meaningful to someone, I'm still not sure how meaningful I am to myself.

Do something substantial.
I said yes, and next year I will embark on the greatest adventure I've had yet. I may or may not kill someone in the process.

Love myself a little better (So that He can love me at all).
He loves me just the way I am..

Not break a heart.
Win.

Find patience.
Uhm...

Find happiness.
Double win, triple win even.

Not roll my eyes when someone (anyone) reads this and mentions my relationship with that Him.
Win, since no one read it.

Hone my wordsmithing skills. (Not a word, I know.)
Win...ish.

A long overdue up date.

OMG, two months (ish). And so much freaking stuff happened.

October:

24th: David received a call from this web design firm for a job he really wanted, requesting an interview. He floated about on cloud nine for a while

November:

1st: David was transferred from the deli (that he hated) to the Starbucks (that he loved) in Target (where he worked).

2nd: Interview with Firefly. Nailed it.

9th: Second interview with Firefly, this time the Owners and not the GM. Hashed out salary, but was not actually offered the job.

11th: Firefly did not call back as expected. We pig out in a pity party.

13th: David called Firefly to see where he stood. The GM apologized for not getting back to him sooner and offered him the job. Woot, woot!

During all THIS nonsense:

David's grandfather had his knee replaced, his brother had his gallbladder removed and spent three weeks in two different hospitals due to still unknown complications, and his mother had a breakdown due to exhaustion. He spent and week in Jackson with them, right across Thanksgiving. So I spent Thanksgiving with Oliver and Daisy and my pjs. Score.

Everyone is better now, healthy and home. But now we have to contend with the pooh that this whole thing stirred. And I've been asked to keep my explanations as vague as possible. Grumble. The one time I'm willing and prepared to expound upon the details is the ONE TIME I can't.

Damn.

He started his first real grown-up job at Firefly and loves every minute of it. And... we're not broke and poor anymore. Bonus!

So, that's what's happened in our little corner of the world since I fell off the radar.

A new place to live.

Today's the day. In three hours - three teeny, tiny little hours, we meet with the world's most useless realtor to sign a lease on the cutest little duplex bungalow thing.

Pictures to follow.

Scout's Honor.

But first, lunch with David, Jo, Gramma, and The Flower Girl.

Score!

In other news, I have a humungous ulcer on the left side of my tongue and talk like my mouth is full of cotton. Lunch will be FUN.

Real names, real people, real places.

So, it's hard work keeping up with nicknames. I have a lot of people in my life, and even more about whom I talk.

And this nickname crap is getting old.

So, without further ado...

Names and Faces!

Charlie Browne = David, my fiance'. (I know, I know, how the EFF did THAT happen? I don't really know either.)


Hannigan = My mom. Her name is Susan, but I've called her Hannigan or Moooooommmaaaaaa for years.

Grasshopper = Thomas, my big little brother. He's six feet tall. I've called him Grasshopper since he was in jr. high. Still do.

This is the two of them after Grasshopper graduated.
I'll let you guess who's who


This is Jessica. She's the batshit insane one. I never really have reason to talk about her.



Pooh = Becca, my youngest sister. She's the hot one.
Except right here. Here, she's the hungover, partied-out one.



Bonus = Beau-ness, my baby brother extraordinaire.
He's kind of a nut. He's also eleven...I think.




Last but not least, this is Dad. He's name is Ray. He's technically my stepfather, but he's so good at it, so I claim him as the real thing. The other guy in the picture is Gary, our neighbor, and of course, Becca, working on her tan. She does that at random intervals.




And, that's it for now.