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Today was my birthday.
I'm thirty four.
However, from the word 'go' it didn't feel very--birthday.

Good things: Killer white chocolate mousse cake and a cool bluish-purple Liz Claiborne purse from my mom and step-dad.
Jubilee, a Living Dead Doll to me from me.
Fifty bucks from my grandparents.
My husband was here for the weekend.

Bad things: No one put candles on my cake.
No one sang "Happy Birthday" to me.
I did not make a wish.
No one chased me around the table threatening to give me a birthday spanking.
For the first time in history, my father sent me nothing.

And it's not that I didn't like my gifts because I did. But the whole thing was just so--Let's-Get-This-Over-With. Such is a birthday so soon after Christmas I guess. Still, the whole thing pisses me off because these little things happen but once a year. We never know when we've celebrated our last or how many more we'll have. And no one seems to care how important it is to celebrate birthdays. Not my birthday. Not yours. But everyone's birthday.

So excuse me while I sit in my shit fit puddle and stew.

2007

Goodbye 2006. Kiss my ass.
Hello 2007. Gimme a kiss.

Now this is the part where I say something witty.

Resolutions so boring, typical, and unimaginative:
1. lose weight/get in shape/change my attitude toward health
2. get out of credit card debt and exercise some monetary restraint
3. work harder and more diligently toward getting published and writing every day

Hello 2007.

RIP XMAS

Thank God it's over.

Nuts

Have yourself a nutty little Christmas.

Island of Misfit Toys

My TV persona remains as timeless as ever.

Finally

I am a circus freak. I juggle plates. Today I have one less plate. I would like to have a gigantic piece of chocolate mousse on that plate, but I don't think that will happen.

Took my final and paid an overdue book fine at the library. The Hispanic librarian will no doubt end up in my fictional world somewhere. Her tired, over-worked sigh and pet phrase, "I'm telling you..." cracked me up.

A weight is lifted. I sigh with relief. Here comes Christmas.

A is for Academically Applied Awesomeness

I took a Creative Writing course this semester at the local junior college. Mainly because I wanted access to the campus gym but also because in all my hundreds of hours of college education I had never taken one. This despite that I am a writer of many moons.
We had to show a certain level of proficiency in short stories, novels, poetry, and drama. I wrote a devestatingly honest essay about a child's view of divorce for an essay and won the teacher over, thank God. I would need her affections for the poetry. The poetry had me shaking in my boots but I managed to amuse her with my pitiable attempts at wit. It helped that I kicked major mundo ass on the other mediums, novels (actually the first chapter of one) and drama.
I made a frickin' A.
Coolness.