My Life: In a Few, Incomplete Sentences

So one of the things that happens, when you put the on-going stream of gay unicorns and varietals of cabernet that are running through your freakish little mind into written format on the world wide web is that… people can read your thoughts. And sometimes it’s witty strangers and you’re like, hey, cool, she digs my incessant drivel. And sometimes it’s old friends that you haven’t heard from in ten (or more) years and you’re like, Hi. Now you finally know it’s true. I’m vaguely crazy. Aren’t you glad we reconnected on MySpace?

Sometimes they turn out to be people whose opinion you really cared about.

And.

Well.

I’m feeling shy.

For the first time in, like, ten (or more) years.

...

But who am I to let a little shyness get in the way of my verbal diarrhea?

So to catch all you people up who knew me an a less-princess and more awkward-pre-teen-with-really-awful-bangs stage, here’s the low-down on what I’ve been up to.

I got out of California as fast as my dinky learner’s permit allowed and went to college in Colorado. I was the one holding a purple water gun in every single one of the graduation pictures, while all of my fellow graduates held up their diplomas. It made my mother proud.

After graduation, I took my very expensive English degree up to the mountains and sold my soul for a ski pass. And then I learned Spanish. And lived in a log cabin. And had a dog that could eat your dog for a snack. She also could retrieve rather large trees that she found floating in partially-frozen mountain lakes. She was pretty awesome. Unfortunately, me and my delicate immune system and lack of interest in hiking for hours on end in sub-zero temperatures did not… do it for her. So she went to live with the ex-boyfriend. Sigh. I thought we could be very happy in our cute little loft in Denver, but apparently there weren’t enough moose to chase in our 900-square-foot cement apartment.

Then I finally got The Funasaurus drunk enough on cheap beer (after having had a crush on him for, oh, SEVEN YEARS) that I made a move, confident that he was too inebriated to get too far. Then he made an honest-ish woman of me and we started dating and promptly shacked up for a couple of years.

Then I had the boss from hell and he got us both fired, and I handled that quite gracefully.

Fortunately, I’m not bitter at all.

Anywhos. Then The Funasaurus and I got married, and I found I really like wearing a princess dress and having a day all about ME. I want to do it again. Like, daily. I just don’t want to deal with all the planning, and whatnot.

Marriage suits me. We do a lot of sleeping in and watching movies together. We spend a lot of times with our cats, because we have bitchin' social lives. Sometimes I pick The Funasaurus’ nose and then put my finger in his mouth when I feel his attention is, perhaps, not as focused as it should be on whatever it is that I am blathering on about. He loves that. Fortunately for me, there’s a legally binding document, now, that says getting rid of me will be even more annoying than being fed your own boogers, so he’s stuck.

We eat a lot of sushi, and I drink a lot of wine, and sometimes pretend to go to yoga. Like last night. When I am pretty sure I caught the instructor LAUGHING AT ME. What happened to “it’s all about my personal journey,” huh? What if my journey in half pigeon looks more like I’m just sitting there? So what? Asshole. (Oh, and by the way, I WILL drink water when I’m thirsty, so suck it.)

Um. That’s about it. I still like pink. And presents. Feel free to send me presents anytime. Oh, also, I am still into cheese, and I got a great fortune and am basically biding my time in publishing until it comes true.

Word.

(How come, when I write that, it looks more like I’m telling you what program I used to write this entry than gangsta for “peace out?”)

*sigh*