Two Years & Counting

Today marks a strange anniversary. It's been two years since I have seen or spoken to my parents.

Take a moment. [ moment ] Whew, glad that's over. Still, seems a bit strange - two years is a rather long time. Now, don't worry -- they still call and send postcards and strange packages and rain crazy all over the house. But I haven't opened those doors, nor do I intend to anytime soon. Or, y'know - ever.

Is it strange? Yes. Do I miss them? Not really... I miss the memory of them, but not them really. It's complex. As is the case with most families. I wish I could have a relationship with them -- but the best advice I got regarding estranged family is this: if it's meant to be fixed, it will get fixed. Don't force it. Some families are just broken.

Mine is. And the forecast for Year Three? Crazy-free skies, yo' -- just the way I like them. I always thought if your life is crazy, it should at least be the kind of crazy you make yourself.

On another note - nothing like complicating already complicated posts - do you think Dancing with the Stars is our generation's version of the Lawrence Welk Show? So not, like, really - but the variety show aspect of it is sort of interesting.

Also, this is my 501st post. Goodness! I started blogging in January 2006, can't believe I'm still writing.

FIRST!

I don't get it.

I enjoy read Dooce. As a matter of fact, her blog is probably my hands down favorite -- I like it so much I save it in my reader and then move over to her actual blog to read it. That's how I show respect bitches.

I don't understand, however, why people get all hyped up about commenting first. I simply DON'T GET IT. Yeah! You clicked there first! Whooppee! Now, I know I don't have hundreds or thousands of comments - maybe that's why I miss the thrill.

I'm super super confused by the d-bags that end up somewhere like #18 who are all thanking their respective deity for the honor of posting first. Um, Hi D-Bag. You suck. Not to be a hater, but why don't you go write your own blog where you get to be first EVERY DAY. C'mon - be proactive!

I get excited when I get comments. Period.

The Taurus

I love reading other blogs. And these days, it seems that's all I'm doing. I stumbled across Uppercase Woman a few months ago and really enjoy her pithy commentary. Yesterday, she wrote about her favorite car here.

I have had quite a few cars... And while my first thought is to offer up the Red Saturn Vue that was an engagement present, my favorite car of all time has to be my first one - the Taurus. It was a beige (I think my Dad called it sand) 1995 Ford Taurus and man, we were close friends.

My Dad drove it for a year or so before he turned it over to me. At the time, I was devastated. When you go to high school with the sons and daughters of the managers over at the BMW plant, it's easy to expand your expectations. Despite the fact that I was downright giddy at getting a car, I sort of wanted to pick something out myself. (You know, like my brother did a year later. I'm not bitter.)

However, on the day it was turned over for good - I sensed it. FREEDOM. I put a purple peace frog on the back window, purchased in Georgetown, of course. Also, let us not forget, the pink bumper sticker with some sort of vegetarian message. I love animals? Don't eat them? Something like that. I was so set for my 1.25 mile drive to high school. Ahhh, suburban middle class hippiedom.

That was when gas was .89 cents a gallon. We used to fill up just to drive around. I tutored one of my friend's brothers for gas money. So two of my friends - oddly, both named Erin - would get in the front seat of the Taurus and we'd cruise around Greenville... All in the front seat. It was hysterical. EVERYTHING would fit in that car. And I hauled it around.

My father sold it during my freshman year in college and I was so sad. Two more beige-ish Tauri followed. After that, I'll never buy a beige car again.

She must get me.

I don't know this blogger - I only subscribe to her lovely blog, Bakerella. You probably should as well.

Even though we've never met, I can't help but think she'd get me.

practice makes perfect

It's true - practice takes perfecting. Or um, practice makes perfect. I'm not what you would call laid back. I doubt one would even say that I tilt. So this whole laissez-faire thing I got going? It is shockingly lovely.

The fact that K. is getting this whole birthday thing so right? Only took three years. Imagine what next year will be like. People, I had Birthday Bunny with a South Beach Egg Souffle cup (sparkly candle and all).

I'm incredibly happy to have been alive for twenty-eight years. And I am stoked to start this next one. I've been writing at M&MD for three years now. Can't believe the change my life has taken since then.

Thank you and thank God.

A little melancholy on the inside

If I'm a little melancholy on the inside, but generally optimistic and happy, is that a bad thing?

(in reading Everyday Stranger)