I am REALLY REALLY tired.

Wednesday, I cleaned 6 houses.

Thursday, I cleaned 11.

Today, I cleaned 13. Then I went and finished up 8 more.

Tomorrow I have 13 more to finish up.

My house? Yuck. Lets hope it doesn’t explode before Sunday.

(More about all this cleaning later… I’m too tired to try and explain. But its a good thing. And I’m enjoying myself, even if I do stink.)

My heart is hurting for my family. Send all your good thoughts and love their way, they sure need it.

I just washed my five year old’s mouth out with soap. It was not a pleasant experience, for either of us… but something tells me it may have done the job.

It was an actual bad word. Up until now they’ve flirted with toilet humor (although those were declared bad words tonight after a weekend spent listening to “Poop!” followed by shrieking laughter.) but have never before uttered an actual cuss word. And it was one of my favorites… Bitch. I’m afraid I know who is responsible.

I have a potty mouth. And as much as I try to tone it down, I’m afraid more often than not my conversation tends to be R rated. Not to the kids directly, just when I’m having adult conversation and they are around. For some reason I can’t seem to remember not to call people asshats or describe certain dance moves as “douchey”. And I tend to use the B-word as a term of endearment… said to only those I love the most. Still, my kids don’t know that.

So, we’ve reached an agreement. Dirty words=a mouthful of Dial. And that goes for me too. I’m anticipating having a very clean mouth.

There is this thing that runs in my family. We tend to get a bit obsessive when we find something we like. Whether it’s a new band, a new food or just a new way to humiliate yourself at parties, those of us born with this borderline OCD trait tend to take a good thing and run with it. I freely admit to being one of these special, special people.

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon some clips from the HBO show Flight of the Conchords. (Yeah, I realize its been around awhile. Remember, I’m slow.) It was love at first musical comedy routine. I immediately got myself the first season on DVD and proceeded to watch the entire thing in 2 nights. Jason enjoyed it too, but I could tell he didn’t really get my passionate, all consuming lust for all things Jemaine and Brett. But, that happens a lot. Like I said, I tend to take it all the way to the deep end.

I mentioned my new favorites to my brother, who told me about the movie Eagle vs. Shark, an incredibly awkward nerdlove story with Jemaine Clement in the lead. I rented it Sunday and ended up watching it last night, in a haze of PMS induced tears. It got terrible reviews, and anybody I’ve talked to whose seen it told me it was bad.

This may prove that I’m a few cards short of a deck, but I loved it. It was funny and sweet and touching and sad. And featured a mullet. And “Awesome Apparel” tracksuits. And hula-hooping. And wheelchair beatings. You can never go wrong with wheelchair beatings.

I started my history class today. It should be… interesting. The professor seemed to relish telling the class that we probably didn’t possess the writing skills necessary for college, but assured us that he would meet us in the middle. Not to be totally and completely egotistical, but I think I will enjoy blowing that little misconception out of the water. (I mean, not to brag, but my 11th grade term paper on prostitution in the old west was good enough that my honors history teacher urged me to get it published. Ok, I never did it, but still. He was tough.)

I decided to drop the lit class I was registered for because it was not something I necessarily need for my degree, rather it just fit into my time schedule. And it was also a subject I’m not that into. I’m working on getting into an advanced composition class online instead. But if I can’t, I’ll just stick with the one class and work on getting back into school full time next semester.

So, this morning after class I found myself standing in line at the campus bookstore for 45 minutes. The line never moved, not even once. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I ever saw anyone emerge from the store after they went in. They were most likely turned into zombies. Fearing for my soul, I decided to go with my trusty friend Amazon and just spring for overnight shipping. $87.00 later I’m glad I did. The book at the store was $100+.

Now, I understand textbooks can be wonderful founts of knowledge. But they can also be pieces of crap. I’ve taken classes where the instructor required students to buy a book they published along with a regular textbook. Is it just me or is there something kinda sad about forcing a captive audience to buy your masters thesis? I clearly remember one instructor forcing us to basically write a book review as one of our assignments. It just left a bad taste in my mouth. (No, I didn’t write a scathingly bitchy review. I have a 3.86 GPA to think about folks!)

Back to school for me. Back to trying not to fall asleep in class and memorizing useless facts. Back to MLA formatting. Back to battling for a parking spot. Back to being a cog in the wheel. Only this time? I’m going to get an actual degree out of it. Imagine that.

I’m so… bleh.

My back hurts.

I had to miss my first day of class this morning to go have 5 crowns put on. Now my mouth hurts too.

I’m all anxious and sad and worried and I’m not sure what to do with my life or where I should be going or if its the right time to do anything and does it even matter anyway or am I just a big lazy lump with no self discipline? Why am I nearly 30 years old and still can’t figure out what I want? Will I ever? Should I just go to dental assisting school or become a truck driver so at least I can make some money? Will I ever feel like I fit somewhere? Will I end up a bitter, sad old woman who disappointed herself and everyone around her?

Should I maybe just go curl up with a book and eat a bunch of cheese? Is it possible I’m just having a severe PMS moment? (Probably.) Sigh.

Pity party, table for one.

Saturday night was the big 30 year anniversary party for my parents. I just have to say that it was a rousing success. Excellent food, a huge crowd, tons of drinking and dancing and laughing and more drinking.

Why do I have a picture of the cake instead of my mom and dad? Because I actually didn’t get any pictures of them.

I did get one of Uncle Milan blowing bubbles though… and I was pretty certain he would love it if I posted it here for the world to see. So there you go.

Luckily, Phaedra got some awesome pics of the party and you can go see them here.

Whether they read it here or not, I hope everyone who came and helped and cut flowers and brought food and helped me not panic knows just how awesome they are. We couldn’t have done it without you!

It’s times like these when I really appreciate how crazy wonderful my ginormous family really is! Love you all!

… but, I don’t. And chances are neither do you. It seems to work that way.

I started my business some time ago with the intention of never having to work for “the man” again. And its been great. Fun projects, cool clients. Deadlines I could cope with, the chance to learn and grow and go at my own pace. Awesome. But also? Kinda lonely. Its hard to bitch to your coworkers when you don’t have any. And when you are dealing with the not-so-cool clients? Yeah, that can be tough. Plus? I’m really terrible at networking and marketing and getting my name out there. I try, but that is just so not enjoyable for me and I know its held me back.

And the past few months, its been real real slow. I’ve heard it from everyone, especially other business owners. Everything is slow. Money is tight. People are nervous. I don’t blame em… and I know the kind of services I provide, while very much worth it (IMO), tend to get pushed back if cash flow becomes a problem. That’s business.

(I realize that could just be an excuse and maybe I’m just a terrible writer or I suck as a businessperson. But I really don’t think that is the case. *shrugs* )

So, lately, I’ve been a little… anxious. Restless. Bored. Confused. Worried. Bored. My husband is self employed, and while his company is (THANK YOU BABY JESUS!) doing very well, slow times can come at any moment. We have no health insurance. (And for someone for whom extra seratonin is essential, that can be tricky.) We have a 95 year old house that could really, really use some fixing up, but we just don’t have the money for it.

Don’t get me wrong, we are doing fine. We eat well, we are able to do fun things now and again and spring for treats from time to time. But the strain is there. And as I told my husband last night… I can’t help but want a little more. (And feel super guilty.) I would like to see the frown disappear from his face when bill paying time comes around each month. I would like to be able to buy new pillows without wondering if it might tip the balance too much. I want to take my parents out to dinner. I would like to sign my daughter up for dance and let my son do cub scouts without always worrying if we will be able to make it this month. And to be honest, I would really like to talk to other adults on a daily basis.

So I’m thinking it may be time to suck it up and get a J.O.B. I’m going to take my time and try to find something right (or at least right enough!) for me. Something I can feel comfortable with. There are plenty of people out there who work at jobs they hate and I’m just pretty certain I can’t do that. (In fact, I know I can’t.) But maybe I can find something I can take some pride in? Somewhere that will let me grow a bit? Does that even exist?

It may not happen tomorrow, or next week, or next month. But I’m opening myself up to possibility and I’m eager to see what’s in store!

As mentioned earlier, Saturday night I got all dolled up and went to my 10 year high school reunion. I wore shoes that were not flip flops and put on makeup. I twisted my hair into some semblance of submission. I put on my snazzy new dress and a pair of earrings and got ready to face the past. Or at least some of it.

And you know what? It was FUN. Well, after awhile. My friend Becky and her husband Dan came and picked me up and we met up with some other friends at the bar for a little pre-reunion imbibing. Definitely the right move, as the reunion was only serving beer and wine (and charging $5 a glass. Yeah, on top of the $60 ticket. But I digress…) and Becky and I felt the need for something a bit stronger.

Fired up with our liquid courage, we made our way to the reunion. Fashionably late. I believe I heard at least a few of the crowd I was with saying “Why did I come to this?”. Can’t say I felt much differently. After about an hour, once everyone had a drink (or 5) and dinner was eaten and speeches were made the atmosphere seemed to relax. I talked to a whole bunch of people that I really didn’t know in high school and some that I had lost touch with completely. I saw quite a few people I didn’t recognize one bit. And I kept drinking my wine. Because I was still nervous and hey… its not every weekend you have cute new clothes, a designated driver (Thanks Dan!) and a perfectly good reason to get soused. One must take advantage of these things.

My friend Marielle and I decided to get the dancing started with a lovely flamenco inspired “Tora! Tora!” routine involving genius use of a linen napkin… only nobody was really buying it until the DJ played a little tune called “No Diggity”. Hrm, yes well. Not my cuppa, but I danced my bootie off for most of the night anyway.

All in all, not entirely painful. And I got to hang out with some really cool gals that I hadn’t seen in forever. It’s rad to see what awesome people they have all become.

I just ordered pizza. Because its really stinking hot here and there is no way I’m turning the oven on.

I’m really tired. And bummy. And blah. I don’t know why, but I have an idea and a plan of action.

I HATE scrapbooking. I really, really hate it.

Tomorrow is my high school reunion. I’m looking forward to seeing old friends. And wearing a new dress. And it being over.

I have *almost* all the supplies for the big 30th anniversary party next weekend. I hope.

One of my chicks is gone. Just POOF, gone. The coop was latched, there were no escape holes anywhere and I can’t find a body. Its REALLY bizarre.

I bought two adult bantams at the sales yard this week. It really is nice having a full run!

Have a happy weekend. I will most likely be tipsy for a good portion of it.

I have a confession to make. I hate the Olympics.

Ok, hate is probably too strong a word. More like “I have a complete and utter lack of interest in the Olympics.” I’m just not a sports person. I have tried, on more than one occasion, to follow a Raiders game while my husband screams at the TV and regales me with terms like “end zone” and “hail mary” but after a few minutes my adult ADD kicks in and I find it very necessary to rearrange furniture or color code my fabric collection. It may stem from years of being dragged to my brothers little league games, wrestling matches, soccer & basketball games AND my dad’s softball and basketball games. Or it may just be that I’m a weenie girl with a distinct lack of hand eye coordination and a missing competitive gene. Either way, the sports? They ain’t my thing.

Regardless, here is a list of sports I am interested in seeing:

1. The National Bellyflop Championships.
2. The entire cast of “Sex in the City” participating in their very own Running of the Bulls. With a dead end.
3. Anything involving midgets and trampolines.
4. A donkey race in which handpicked drains on humanity celebrities like Rachel Ray, Paris Hilton and most of the Baldwin brothers must ride drunken beasts of burden to the top of an ancient Peruvian mountaintop. Loser must be sacrificed atop said mountain.
5. So You Think Your a Pentecostal? Extra points if, while speaking in tongues, the participants manage to slip in “Nathan Explosion is God.”