One of the big things I was going to do this year, besides my normal To Do list which consists of “Survive,” was to start to pull myself out from behind the diaper pail and figure out who the hell I was now. Thanks to various circumstances, I’ve been kind of trapped in the house for one reason or another for the past three years.
While I haven’t reached Howard Hughes levels of creepiness by keeping my urine in jars, or growing out my finger nails to freakish lengths, it’s not been easy for me. I wasn’t cut out for this stay-at-home life style, and if I could figure out what it IS that I was good at besides, you know, being independently wealthy and shopping all the time, I’d do it.
Luckily, thanks to a stroke of mad genius and a couple of things that couldn’t have possibly been coincidence, I found something that I could do. I started to write, thanks to The Daver, who insisted that I start telling stories to people besides him. Probably because he wanted me to stop pulling him out of meetings to tell him about purchasing castles* in the area.
Then, I was contacted by Mr. Toy With Me out of the clear blue sky, who asked me if I’d like to come write for his site. Which, I mean, a sex column? Kind of the job I was born to do. I’m crass and gross and I always take stuff to 11.
I realized that while I waited for my book stuff to happen, I could do something else besides write on my blog. The Internet is ripe for the writing, I determined, with fist pumped to the sky, 2010 would be The Year Of My Empire.
And? It’s been a good year so far. I’ve managed to not only get out of the house, but I’ve gotten away from my children for two whole nights in another state. The downside is that now I want to permanently live in another state where it’s not always Ass Hot or Ass Cold.
Ah, California, all that I can’t leave behind.
I’ve also managed to get my hairs cut and a super-villain streak dyed into it. Which means that I’m also looking for a litter of puppies to make into a coat, but you know, that’s probably just fumes talking here. For me, this is huge.
Because I tend to put off being good to myself until I FEEL better about myself. It’s dumb because it’s a self-fulfilling prophesy. I’m still carrying some baby weight, so I should punish myself for some reason, even though that’s not quite fair. I’m not exactly rolling in free time, and really, my sanity has been more important than my waistline.
Speaking of waistlines, I’ve been adjusting that, too. At least, I think I have. I threw out my scale, because after years of being on WW, I got tired of having my week dictated by a half a pound variance. But, I’ve been on the Spark People and using that. It’s free and it’s awesome because you can use your MEASUREMENTS rather than your LBS.
And? I dropped one pants size already and am about to drop another (thank you, Topamax, for making me never want to eat again).
Probably the weirdest thing that I’ve done this year is to become a business owner, which makes me feel like I should invest in some power suits and some accordion folders for all the important documents that I barely have. Also, I should boss my cats around more since my kids just look at me like I’m stupid.
Yesterday, though, Stage Two, wherein I get shaded! Tattoo You! Or Me!
Here is Stage 1 (the BEFORE picture):
Here is after:
And another angle:
And lastly, this is what I call a Twitter Bait and Switch. What I tweeted was “Naked Lady Boobie Pictures.” The link gave you this picture.
And that, my friends, is not naked. I am barely a lady (unless you are being sarcastic). Also, I am not annoyed at all. I am bemused by my tattoo-ness.
But I am freshly inked and very, very happy. Also, very, very sore. I will get the color finished in 2 months or so and then? I want the OTHER side done. With…something.
So how are YOU doing on getting YOUR groove back, my gnomies?
*Yes, there are castles out here. No, I don’t live in one. But I am 100% sure I’d be cooler if I did.