This means I need to find another way to move more. I love biking, but sometimes I talk myself out of it when I consider the hassle of setting up my bike rack, lifting my heavy bike onto the rack, filling my tires with air at the gas station, and going to the local park hoping not to get raped, mugged, or killed because my mother has instilled a grave fear in me of going to public places alone.

I like doing Yoga and other activities on my Wii Fit, but the rate of calories burned is so much slower than just sweating it out on the treadmill. I wish the Michael Jackson dance game counted calories burned. I do a lot more sweating to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” than Tree Pose.

I like flailing about in water for extended periods of time, but I do not have access to a pool. Plus, I would not like to choose between being in the way of serious swimmers and being stuck in the shallow end with the floaties crowd. In my I-just-became-richer-than-Lovey-Howell fantasy I own a big pool in my own backyard. Until then… until then…

So I have decided to take up one of these so-called running strategies. I’ve heard a lot of people talk about The Couch to 5k Plan. Supposedly if I practice running three times a week, then I will be able to run a 5k nonstop in 9 weeks. I’m starting tomorrow. For the first practice, I warm-up with a brisk 5 minute walk (I never warm up for longer than a minute when I’m working out. I probably need to change this habit). Then alternate a minute of jogging with 90 seconds of walking for a total of 20 minutes. That doesn’t sound so bad. I will probably even walk an extra ten minutes after that. Maybe slow is the way to go. Maybe the tortoise can win the race after all…

Had I not abandoned school seven years ago because I was under the assumption that I’d rather be an apron wearin’ June Cleaver wifey, I’d have a better adjective than ‘good’.

But nope! I threw it all away, and now get to claw my way back into the campus one credit hour at a time.

I keep telling myself that I’m an endearing star of a sitcom about a girl-woman finding herself and rising out of the ashes of her self-made natural disaster. (Think Mary Tyler Moore! Or Lucy when she ditched Desi and just had the Lucy Show! Can I get a Bea Arthur, at least? Who didn’t love Bea Arthur?)

I know deep down I’m a circus worthy spectacle.

But my classmates sure don’t realize their own potential.

I’m pretty sure they’re under the assumption that they are entirely normal.

The wreak havoc on my A.D.D.

There’s the chick who sits in front of me. She wears stripper heels 24/7. My driving desire to understand people and their motiviations goes wild on this one. The first time I saw her, she was wearing rainbow glitter heels with zippers up the back. The puzzling part was her juxtaposition outfit of blue jeans and a tank top. Oh, but why? Why the stripper heels with the casual outfit? Was she planning on pole dancing for our professor? Was she due for her shift at the strip club directly after class? Did she plan on using the sharp pointy heel as a weapon if attacked? I decided to chalk this up as a one time fashion error.

But tonight, the trainwreck charted a sequel crash-course. This evening’s selection involved a tank top, blue jeans……and eight inch leopard print stilletos. I stared, horrified, as she Peg Bundy heel strutted into the classroom, and slammed her books down on the desk, commanding everyone’s attention.

I raised my eyebrows, and mentally wished I had some pearls to clutch with a horrified look on my face.

I nicknamed her ‘Daddy Issues’ and turned my attention to the conversation behind me.

There were three students older than myself, and they were very reassuring to me in as that I got to remind myself that even though I’m a late in life student, at least I’m not coloring my greys and wearing prescription reading glasses yet.

They were united in harassing the young girl next to them.

“You know who had good clothes,” asked the sweat pants wearing female leader, “Venture. That’s who had good clothes.” Sweat Pant Diva’s two male counter parts grunted in agreeance, and the young girl squeaked, “What’s a Venture?”

This question was met with loud groans by the Pals In Poligrip . “You don’t know what Venture is? What are you? Eighteen? Too young, too young.”

The grandfather sitting to the left of me turned in his chair and pointed his finger at her.

“You know what I did last weekend? I biked twenty-six miles. My grandson couldn’t keep up with me. I bet you couldn’t bike twenty-six miles.”

I almost expected a commercial jingle to cue up behind us, and the grandfather would then coo to the camera the virtues of Metamucil Plus Fiber, because being a senior citizen doesn’t mean the end of being senior sexy!

Instead, I just shook my head and felt sympathy for the girl. I wanted to pat her on the hand and tell her that waking up in some frat boy’s room with a hell of a hang over, and no recollection of the last ten hours was probably far more fun than a twenty-six mile bike ride, anyways.

As the Golden Club reminisced on, I was distracted by the boy to my right.

Why was I distracted?

Because he could not keep his hands out of his pants.

I’m a girl (if you were ever wondering), and I lack the parts to have sympathy….but I just wanted to take young Jimmy/Willy/Peter aside and explain to him that he did not need to readjust his parts every thirty seconds, and if he did, then he should consider some sort of topical cream or Valtrex.

It must have been some sort of unfortunate tic for Jimmy/Willy/Peter, because easily he spent half of the class period stirring the contents of his pants. When he wasn’t stirring his pants, he was messing with his cell phone. Jimmy/Willy/Peter- young man-I am not paying 90 dollars a credit hour to watch you shuffle the meat locker, nor text your homedogs. If you continue with such actions, I will have to throw you to the Golden Club so they can school you on what manners meant to their generation, and about how in their day they kept in touch with their friends by connecting two empty cans with some yarn up hill both ways while in the snow.

I was then snapped out of my reverie as the professor concluded, “And that’s all you need to know as far as what content will be on the test next class period.”

What? Huh??? Test????

Shit.

Some things apparently do not mature with age, and my attention span is one of them.

I wonder since now that I’m an older student, my forged note for missing the next class period will look more realistic.

I have searched Craig’s list.  I found a few things that are suitable and meet my requirements (mostly budget).  Did I mention that I have almost no budget for rent.  This really limits your options.  So I made an appointment to view one of these “great neighborhood” places and discovered that I really have high standards.  Like I would prefer not to have spiderwebs stretch apart as the door opens. I would prefer not to have the prior tenant leave the place looking like a tornado hit it, literally, it looked like the person’s life vomited all over the place, and the poor kitten that was there was practically begging to be rescued.  The only charm about the place was the church across the street, lovely until the clock tower tolled 11 o’clock, church bells are wonderful when heard at a distance, but not right outside your door, dear God, they are LOUD.

Time to start the hunt, the old fashioned way….drive my happy ass around the area I would like to live in and find the “For Rent” signs.

I started this journey at noon and ended it around 5 (ok, so I stopped for lunch at Uncle Bills).  It was a good outing.  I have two pages full of phone numbers to call.  And I have rechecked Craig’s List and most of these are not listed there.  Hopefully some things falls into place tomorrow when I start gluing the phone to my ear.

I am armed and ready, scope in place, here’s to bagging the big one!

On Wednesday I got an offer for an internship in LA and on Thursday I took it. I am now in the process of uprooting my life and moving it back across the country in what can be described as a frenzy. I have managed to keep a sense of denial during this whole process but I keep just going through the motions.

This is a great opportunity for me and I hope it can lead to greater bigger things, but for now I need to just take it one step at a time as to not fall into a state of panic. I am VERY aware that I am completely insane. Sometimes you have to do something stupid to do something smart.

I am at that point where I have to do something. I have to make the jump or I will most likely be saying goodbye. When you have a passion for something, the “goodbye” part is an unacceptable thing. I’m happy with my decision and think it is time to make a return.

The good thing is, this blog is about to get a whole lot of new content from me.

Mom decided that she really does want to move into an assisted living facility.  She seems to be even a little excited about it.  The overwhelming hurdle we have to jump is going to be how to get rid of all of her stuff, SO MUCH STUFF; Beanie Babies, teddy bears, art glass figures and the like, barbie dolls, pots and pans, and so much more.  It looks like we will probably auction it off….for pennies on the dollar of which she paid for it all.  Still working on figuring that all out.  Also we have a few house repairs to make before this house can hit the market.  Lord, grant me the patience……

My job, the one I get paid for,  for some reason is starting to have a flow to it.   After being without a right hand for a couple months now, I am finally starting to get it all together.  Time is getting managed, tasks are getting done, and best of all, I am starting to leave on time.   Seriously, that is the best part, it was getting so bad that my staff started to joke about it; “so you get off at …. but when are you really leaving?”    I have a couple newbies starting this week.  So far so good, today was the first day of several with trainees attached to me like a wet t-shirt, needless to say I will be so happy for the weekend, I am off on a Saturday and Sunday together, shocking!

My sister/friend/travel buddy basically cancelled our vacation this year because she loaned a family member money and hasn’t been paid back yet.  Actually, I am OK with his, though I wanted to go, I really want to move out more and saving the money I would have spent on a vacation is the wiser of two options.  Hopefully I can actually get in a little adventure that week, but on the cheap.  Oh, and let’s not forget that week gets topped off with a fabulous wedding.  My dance partner and I need to practice.

I am currently trying to honor an obligation I made to read Gone With the Wind.  We started reading on  the 4th of July, we thought we would finish by the end of the month. Now, we are hoping for the end of summer, or even the end of the year.  It will happen, I will finish this book.

How could I forget I just purchased the car I have been leasing for the last three years.  Bubbles is her name and she has been a good car, gotten me through uncharted back mountain roads of Colorado, trekked through sleet snow and ice to get me back and forth to work, been a nice bed when I got locked out of the house, hauled my bike to and from the Katy Trail, and has simply not let me down.  Even though I am in debt for it, I couldn’t just let her go, abandon her in a lot somewhere for someone else to take her home.

I am all over the place because I am all over the place and yet I feel more in control than I have in a long time.  Maybe it’s the drugs.  Eh, whatever it is, I like it.

And there we have it, and there we are…..

I am writing this as I sit in my parents living room debating tasks.

I am currently making a move. Hopefully in the right direction but it really doesn’t feel that way. It feels like a step back. It is a step back in a great hope it will give me momentum for a great leap forward. Though the step back is even a challenge. I have to move back in with my parents. I have conquered the emotional hurdle with that for the most part. I even had to explain to siblings why this was harder for me than them. What I am faced with is a house of an obstacle. Since I left the first time, my parents have exploded the house. We aren’t to a level of hoarders yet but we could maybe be a candidate. I have been trying to make room for myself and really feel like I am losing. I was told to take this step back but I also feel like I am the only one actually doing anything about it.

I am running out of energy.

I am on vacation from job numero uno this week and need to be working on job numero dos. This has happened very little. I am crashing like Thelma and Louise after their oh so amazing exit. I handle tasks better when I have a lot of them but now I am staring at a wall not knowing where to stick my spoon to begin my dig. I am trying to take it one moment at a time. One task at a time. Widdling here and there, but the wall keeps getting bigger. I’m not even the one adding to the damn wall!

My friends have been crazy supportive of me these past 2 years. I really don’t think they realize how sane they have kept me. My family has been there emotionally for me too but I really need them to step up. They are all having a tough time too, but in my family I am one of the go to people for when there is a problem or something needs to happen. Guys! I cannot continue being that go to person. I need you guys to pick up some slack!

I am finding that all this energy that I am using in planning and keeping things in order is hindering my goals. I am losing focus. I am fighting to maintain it. I am putting up one hell of a battle but I am losing. My creative drive is depleting and I am having to take action to rejuvenate it. It feels good to write. It feels good to put something in my sketchbook. It feels good to tumbl. I need to be put into a creative boot camp of sorts. I need out of my creative funk!

These problems all feed into each other.  I keep telling myself if I complete one the rest will follow.  Now if I could stop the ping ponging and just focus on one situation so I could at least finish something.

This has been something I have been dealing with for a while and am actively making a change on.  I don’t want to be that person.  I want to be a person of action.  In ways I am.  I declare that I am a productive procrastinator.  There!  I said it!

I realized this blog was quickly becoming one of my forgotten projects.  I realized this as I was staring at my computer, an hour till work, and I didn’t want to start anything.  I have had stuff going on in my life!  Lots of things worthy of typing up and sharing!  What the hell am I doing!?  I have an avenue for this!  End Segue.

Now here is to hoping my future potential boyfriend never sees this.

I have been chatting with a guy, I have met online, since early July.  We will ignore the fact that he is only 20 and I am 26 turning 27 in a couple months.  We will ignore that fact that I have somehow rebooted my life in such a way that I am reliving when I was 20 but now with a drinking problem.  All in all?  Pretty good match.  Both ambitious, living with family, and crazy adorable.  So we have been chatting since early July.  Lets keep the story rolling.  And this week we made headway.  Well we attempted to.  We have been trying to meet in person for 2 weeks.  First time, his mom went into the hospital.  Don’t worry she’s fine.  Second time he got pulled into work and my grandma went into the hospital.  Don’t worry she is fine too.

Now normally, I would be fine.  But it is where our conversation has gone that has thrown me into a tizzy over this minor event.  We had two and a half weeks of very normal conversation.  Actually minimal flirting.  “Oh your cute!” and we move on, but we had been talking rather regularly by text messages.  Neither of us knows how the other one sounds, since we haven’t met and I think we are both too chicken to chat on the phone.  But this week our conversation got personal.  Like date 5 personal.  To keep this a family blog (All the authors are laughing now) I will not go into detail other than it was pretty fantastic.

Now back to me.  I am NOT like this normally.  I am NOT this forward EVER.  I am completely out of character and LOVING it.  Now my tizzy.  I am really worried I scared him off.  Haha!  Now he is an instigator too.  We are both guilty, but I am definitely the more forward one.  I may have hit my limit.  I am THAT guy who turns into a creeper! OMG!

Breathe……

So now I am playing it safe, and I don’t even know if I need to.  Damn text messages….  I haven’t really heard from him since our second lack of date.  And the date was canceled for REALLY good reasons.  I need to just calm my ass down and be patient damn it.

Um, basically I love Mel Gibson before I knew who Mel Gibson was.

Truly, though, have you seen his rear end in the movie Bird On A Wire? Breathtaking! I suppose it was just the combo of sky blue eyes and a wicked sense of humor (sans mullet) that caused me to swoon.

I digress, in the movie What Women Want, there is a scene where Mel is walking down the street and hearing women’s random thoughts all assaulting him at once. His character ends up concluding that women worry about everything.

It’s because we do.

But I like to take it a step beyond, and follow up my worry with a nice slathering of guilt.

For example:

-I’m worried about the condition of this planet. I feel guilty because I don’t recycle. I grew up in the era of Captain Planet. My girl scout troop was actively involved in volunteering at the local recycling center. So why haven’t I been able to carry this habit into my adult life? I slink out to the dumpster like a felon escaping prison, throw my overflowing Hefty into the dumpster; and run away before the 1990s see me.

-I’m worried about my parenting skills. I feel guilty because I assumed that I would be June Cleaver millennium version, waking up before sunrise to hand mash organic foods for my little cherub. I thought I would have infinite patience, and always use educational toys for her optimum development. Instead, I’m more like Jane Kaczmareyk on Malcolm In the Middle. I genuinely love my daughter, but sometimes she drives me effing crazy. I feed her cookies as a snack because it saves me from having to cook. I let her watch Sponge Bob Square Pants because it keeps her quiet when I’m attempting to do something. I fail, fail, fail, and fall far from the ideal parent I was in my head before I actually gave birth.

-Now that I’m pushing thirty (it hurts, oh how it hurts) I am worried about aging. I feel guilty because I’m often too lazy to wash my face and put on moisturizer before bed. Every morning, I frantically scan the mirror for new wrinkles. I about had a nervous breakdown the other day when I discovered a massive crow’s foot line beside my left eye. Turns out it was only a cat hair. But it’s only a matter of time before I am Leatherface. I know this.

-I worry about money all the time. I feel guilty because I’m a huge proponent of instant gratification, and shopping satiates that need. It’s such a conflicted feeling to love my new Betsey Johnson purse so much, yet glare at it because it’s purchase means that my electricity is about to be shut off.

-I worry that I’m not living up to my full potential. And I’ll be dead soon. I feel guilty because I’d rather sleep/eat/go out/read/socialize/internet/stare at the wall/ then actually work towards something more conducive to success.

-I worry about my self-absorption. I feel guilty, because well, no one likes self-absorption. Except me. I think it’s cute when I do it.

You see, these reasons and many more are why I drink.

-I worry about my liver. I feel guilty because while I worry about my liver, I also have made a bi-weekly habit of giving it a party bath of vodka and/or wine. Now what kind of sense does that make?

Maybe I should just embrace it.

Yeah.

Maybe I’ll just let my worry and guilt fly away on gossamer wings, kick my conscience to the curb, and get out my short-shorts and tube top. You’ll see me on the Maury show, waving my finger in the air screeching, “Whatevah! Whatevah! I do what I want! Ya’ll just jealous! Ya’ll just wish you had some of this!” As I point at my burgeoning stomach rolls sprouting over my tight waistband of my hooker shorts.

That version of me might be a bottom feeder of society, but I bet you anything she’s having a hell of lot more fun than I am.

Whatevah!