Judge Dread

I am dreading going to work tomorrow. I feel like I'm in high school again and one of the following has or will happen:

1. I am going to get beat up by my locker.

2. The guy I like found out I like him.

3. The guy I like has a new girlfriend and I'll see them together all day.

4. I didn't study for a test and will fail.

5. My best friend and I are mad at each other.

I'd love to go into work tomorrow and beat the shit out of everyone. I've got a lot of rage, people. I am curiously strong for someone who doesn't work out and curiously angry for someone with a good life.

I think I need to hang out with my Company friends this week to remind myself that there's a lot of good people there. We can go out for lunch, dinner, or drinks. Maybe I should just start drinking now. It's 1:30 on a rainy Sunday, I could have a drink and not feel like a loser. I could have a few drinks and not feel anything.

Or even better, I could do something nice for myself like workout, read a book, do some logic puzzles (which I lurve!), rub down the pinto, color, watch a movie...

YEAH! I'll stop thinking about work and do something positive for myself today. Yaay for me!

Random One-Night Stand: Maple syrup

You can thank Rockstar for this post. I mentioned this the other day and she said I should write about it. It's with this little anecdote that I have decided NOT to share this blog with my parents. EVER.

And Brother Thighs, stop reading. It's like about sex and stuff.

I went out for drinks with this guy at OTW, one of my favorite bars at the time. The date was boring so I decided to hit on the bartender because really, who doesn't flirt with other people when on a date? Let's call the bartender Old.

Old practically splooged in my eye the minute I said I wanted to kiss him. When my date came back, Old and I slipped off to make out in the corner. We exchanged numbers and went out the following week.

Old and I met at OTW then to an awesome steakhouse for dinner. He went all out: oysters, lobster, steak, few bottles of wine, the works. I knew it was expensive so naturally I decided to bang him as a thank you.

I don't recall discussing sex during dinner, so at some point during either the cab ride home or the joint we smoked at his apartment we must have talked about it. I say this because when we were in bed Old decided to go look for honey.

Now I'm a tri-sexual (I'll try anything once) and I gotta tell you, I HATE mixing food and sex. Whip cream, chocolate syrup, bananas in the cooch, whatever. I can't imagine telling Old I thought pouring honey on ourselves would be hot, but yeah he ran to the kitchen like a man on a mission.

When Old came back we started making out so I didn't notice what he brought back with him . He gently poured the honey on me and then with his nervous Old-self managed to spill like half the bottle on my breasts. Then I realized it wasn't honey...
it was fucking maple syrup. I won't go into the details. All you need to know is that it was the grossest thing ever.

The Cab of Shame home was awful. I smelled like a Waffle Whore-House. I never wanted to talk to him again, but despite being 10 years my senior (hence the Old) I don't think he had many sexual experiences so he wouldn't stop calling me.

When I couldn't avoid him anymore I answered and said to please stop calling me. He said something like "I spent $400 on dinner and you won't go out with me again?" I said, "Sorry HONEY but no fucking way." and hung up.

It was this little incident that made me keep my dick in my pants. (I don't actually have a dick, but what should girls say, keep the car out of the garage? hot dog out of the bun? plug from the socket?) I stopped sleeping around after my night with Old. Well maybe not completely, but I definitely slowed down.

Ironically I think me and my friends are going to drink at OTW tomorrow. I haven't been there in over two years. If Old is still there I will laugh my ass off...and pray to god he doesn't have any syrup behind the bar.

Breakthrough No. 7

I go to therapy every Thursday. Today I had a breakthrough.

I obsess, exhaust, beat down everything. I do it with guys, with work, I even used to do it with friends. I never understood where this came from. Was it fear, anxiety, or both? I never asked myself this question:

What would happen if I don't do it, this, or that?

What would happen if I didn't flirt with Donovan? What would happen if I didn't tell the whole world I love him? What would happen if I didn't imagine our wedding and our two children, a boy (eventual Eagles fan) and a girl (eventual Giants fan)?

I mentioned in a recent post that I was offered a great new position at Company. It's in the IT department and just happens to be the exact position I wanted, but didn't know how to get. Seriously, I was on the subway thinking about what I would say to Red and Soaps, but with the current climate I figured they wouldn't help me. Then the head of IT called an hour later offering me the position. I couldn't fucking believe it. I found my flow.

This was last Wednesday. Mags (new boss) said he wanted me to start this past Monday, that HR and Red already knew. I was like shit yeah! Well, it's eight days later and I haven't heard anything.

I sent Mags a follow-up email last Friday. He responded on Monday saying he was working out the logistics and timing. He'd follow up with me on Tuesday. It's Thursday and nothing, so I emailed him saying please let me know if you need anything from me. He said he's still working on it.

I've been so angry all week that I actually took a mental health day yesterday. I hate feeling like this and needed to figure out what the fuck my deal was. I did.

So the questions: What would happen if I didn't follow-up with Mags? What would happen if I didn't obsess about the details of the job?

Before I answer, in my defense I still don't know when I'm moving offices, what my actual job duties are, nor what my pay increase will be (if any). So yes, even a normal person would be a little anxious right now.

BUT, this is a huge self-defeating pattern for me so I need to fucking end it.

The answer: B-L-A-M-E.

My mother blamed me for everything. I was blamed for all the fighting, for her mania and depression, and her unfulfilled dreams. I was blamed for her unhappiness, stress, and lack of self-confidence.

Now I'm sure you're wondering if that's true, but I learned in a recent communication seminar that it's not what you say or what you do, it's what people perceive.

I perceived my mother hated me and that I was to blame for everything wrong with my family. Shit man, it wasn't hard thinking that since I was called a bitch, smacked around, screamed at, and overall dumped on since age five. Maybe even younger.

So what does this have to do with work and guys? I realized today that if I don't think, do, or say something it will be all my fault for it not happening.

If I don't tell Donovan I love him and he secretly loves me and doesn't tell me, it will be my fault we don't get together.

If I don't follow-up with Mags even though he said I'd start four days ago and hasn't followed up with me, it will be my fault that I'm still stuck with Red and Soaps.

My mother never took responsibility for anything growing up. I feel like I was to blame for it all, but who knows, maybe my brother and dad think they are to blame, too.

I felt responsible for everything growing up and I still do now. I feel responsible for fixing Company, I feel responsible for making as many attempts as possible to get someone to like me. Any why? Because I would hate for any one else feel responsible or to blame.

In some weird fucking twist, I have allowed all the nimrods at my job be irresponsible by me acting like I'm fully responsible.

Donovan doesn't like me, never did. I liked him because he's a man's man. Doesn't a real man want to feel responsible, the one that wears the pants, keeps me safe, and puts food on the table? He'd never feel like that with me, so why should he bother?

I've respected and knew I would learn a lot from Mags the minute I met him. Do I want him to feel like I don't think he'll follow through? That he talks out of his ass or that he's too stupid to remember that he offered me the position? He's a fucking CIO, he can certainly take the responsibility to make sure I'm informed.

WOW. I have a lot to think about. And no, I don't know if this is actually the 7th breakthrough, I just though it sounded good in my head.

My favorite joke

Two ducks are taking a shower.

One duck says, "Pass me the soap."

The other duck says, "What do I look like a typewriter?"

Gets me every time.

I'm fine, just venting

I am so fucking pissed off right now but I don't quite know why. I hate everyone and everything. I'm so angry that I can't even watch Wheel of Fortune.

fuckshitcrapbitchcuntshitbaghorsefuckingdickwadcoochface

Hmm.

I feel better already!! Curse words are fun!!

FUCKETYFUCKFUCKYOUSTUPIDSHITKICKINGDOUCHELOVINFUCKBAG!

Fuck your face fuck your ass fuck your mom just go fuck everyone.

Fuck my keyboard fuck my hulk hands fuck the eight pounds I gained this winter.

Fuck Alec Guinness for not wanting to be associated with Star Wars, fuck people who put ketchup on their hotdogs.

Fuck me for not finishing sewing my bedroom curtains, fuck me for not reading Fables even though my friend wants them back soon.

Fuck me for still chewing on my cuticles, fuck Netflix because they haven't figured out how to read my mind and mail whatever movies I think of directly to my home the minute I think of them.

Fuck my laundry (yet again!) and fuck people who spell curse words wrong on bathroom stalls.

Fuck people who say one thing and mean another and fuck people who think I mean something other than what I say.

Fuck the fact that it's April and cold, fuck the nerds on eharmony, and fuck me for my latest act of desperation which was emailing a rather famous blogger asking if we could go out some time because I think he is funny.

Fuck patience and fuck that I don't have any. Fuck my limbo job and ex-bosses. Fuck the fact that I have no fucking clue what the future holds and I am angry because things are spinning out of control when the sad thing is the things that I do have control over I don't do anything about ie losing weight, getting healthy, paying off my debt, writing a note to my landlord to fix the hole in my bathroom, living room window, oven, and handle I accidentally ripped off of my freezer door the other night.

Fuck the fact that there are so many things in life that I haven't even thought of doing because it just never occurred to me to do it.

And the last and biggest fuck you goes to Shizza. Fuck you for giving me the best friends, family, job, and experiences ever. It's fucking annoying to be this blessed and makes it hard to abuse myself, something I've been so comfortable doing my whole life. Being out of one's comfort zone whether it's negative or not is fucking scary!!

My cheeks hurt from smiling right now because I know I sound like an insane bitch (which I am), but I really needed to vent in order to come to the realization that life is fucking good so I should get over myself already and shut. the. fuck. up.

Furball

When I was nineteen I worked at the local mall. One day this woman came up to me and said that she could feel I was surrounded by a lot of negativity. She explained that she was a psychic and offered to do a reading. I was intrigued, so a couple of days later I went to her house with a friend. She said three things to me I always held on to.

1. My boyfriend and I wouldn't last. I knew she was right, my family still calls him Psycho Joe.

True.

2. Psychology and computers would play big roles in my life.

I always had a passion for psychology (all nutbags do). For my first two years of college I was a Comp Sci major. Then I failed Calculus 2 not once, but twice since I never did my homework or went to class. I ended up with a BA in Psych instead. I eventually want to go back to school to get my master's and become an art therapist. I love coloring with crazies.

Computers play a huge role in my job right now. I'm actually not leaving Company anymore, I was offered an awesome gig in the IT department. My focus is on system and business process evaluations. I am super excited about it for lots of reasons, one being that I no longer have to work for Red or Soaps.

So this is true and true.

3: A guy named Furball would have a major impact on my life. I'm 60% sure she used the word soulmate, but I can't remember. Over the years I met probably 5-6 Furballs and each time I always think "Is this the one?" Then I got to Company and met him.

I had only been there about a month when we met. Furball had built a few databases that I needed to use so he came to train me. We hit it off right away. He's really cute, completely sinister, and has lady fingers, one with a wedding band. I didn't think much about it at first, then one day he invited me to a Weezer concert. He said his wife and brother couldn't make it, so would I care to go. I said sure and immediately called my friend Rockstar to ask if I could go to a concert with a married man. She said yes of course, as long as neither of us liked each other. We didn't.

When the concert was over we were walking to the subway so naturally I asked where he lived. It turned out he was living with his brother, his wife and he had separated two months prior. I was like say what!?!?! It was hard enough for me to wrap my head around hanging with a Married, let alone a Separated. I was only 27 for crying out loud, that shit's way too adult for me to deal with. Well, the details aren't mine to share, but the relationship was pretty bad. Furball was seriously thinking of getting a divorce. It was awful.

Furball and I soon became project managers of an implementation so we spent a lot of time together in the office. We'd be in at 8am and sometimes wouldn't leave until 9pm. If we did leave early enough we'd go out to dinner to brainstorm or unwind. We became very close really fast, I was happy to be there to help him through the mess.

It was about six months later that he came over one night to hangout. We snuggled up to watch a movie together and finally kissed when it was over. The kiss was nice, short and sweet. We looked at each other and both agreed that it would never happen again.

Fast forward to today. Furball and his wife are back together. He helped me through some really rough times of my own. Our friendship is one of the best I've ever had. When I thought about leaving Company I realized I didn't want to leave him.

And then I watched My Super Ex Girlfriend tonight. It was good, but motherfuck, why can't I watch a movie and not reflect on my life? Just once I'd like to not be impacted by it. I saw Grindhouse today too (FUCKING ROCKED) and I came away from it wanting to lose forty pounds and learn to throw a mean punch. And make out with Rosario Dawson and Rose McGowan at the same time.

In My Super Ex Anna Farris and Luke Wilson work together. The way they talked, touched, and looked at each other is so similar to Furball and I. By the end of the movie Farris and Wilson confess they loved each other, so what did I immediately start thinking???

I'm in love with Furball. I thought that and then started crying. I love him so much that my heart gets warm once I think of him. I love that he's a cynical grump, I love that he's got a sneaker fetish, I love that he drinks ridiculous amounts of coffee. I love that he talks with his hands, I love that he gets on my nerves, I secretly love when he jiggles my arm fat even though I pretend I hate it.

And then it hit me. What I love the most is that Furball "gets me". That's it. He just gets me.

It wasn't until he said it the other day that I realized that I've never felt that way before. I'm blessed with lots of great friends and have met a ton of people through the years, but I never ever felt like anyone got me. He's seen my light and my dark, my good and my evil, my sanity and my insanity. While he probably couldn't tell you my parents' names or my favorite beer, Furball knows me better than anyone else.

That's why I think I'm in love with him. I wouldn't have let him in and see me raw if I wasn't.

There will never be another kiss and that's okay, my love for him is bigger than that. He's impacted me in more ways than he'll ever know.

True.

Warrior goddess

I've begun to imagine myself as a warrior goddess. My hair is mid-way down my back in beautiful blonde curls. I'm wearing an iridescent blue-green robe that flows as if it was made of water. I carry an adamantium shield and sword (snootches), sometimes switching the shield for a glowing orb if I feel a heightened sense of intuition.

Once I've fully imagined how I look, I immediately feel my heart and soul change. I carry myself taller, I walk stronger, I radiate this warmth and beauty that I have never, ever thought possible. I begin to feel how we are all connected and understand that to know myself within this connection is where I'll find peace.

I imagine this on the way to the office, in meetings, whenever I feel the need. I'm actually doing it right now. I know there will be a time when I don't have to consciously put on my imaginary war garb to feel this way.

You know what? I can't fucking wait.

Skin is apparently tasty.

I have this awful habit of chewing my fingers.

I used to have nice long nails that offset my man-hand sausages. I went for my first manicure right after high school and the nail technician (heh heh) introduced me to cuticle cutting. I bought my own cuticle scissors and would go to town every night before bed. I was obsessed.

I smoked cigarettes back then and would quit from time to time, usually right after getting bronchitis or a chest cold. I guess I needed an oral fix during those breaks so I started biting my nails. Not sure what made me start chewing my cuticles. I think it was something to do when I was cracked out after partying all night. Now I do it all the time to the point where my fingers are always red, puffy, and bloody. It is so fucking gross.

I would like to write myself a note:

Dear Me,

STOP FUCKING EATING YOUR OWN SKIN. In fact don't eat any one's skin you disgusting cannibalistic douche.

Here are acceptable things to put in your mouth: food, beverage, medication, cock, toothpaste, toothbrush, tongue, floss, and mouthwash. THAT IS ALL. And to clarify, DO NOT CHEW THE COCK OR TONGUE.

Love,
Me

You know what I consider "doing my nails" now? Applying Neosporin to my wounds and wearing band-aids on each finger. Lovely.

So let's make a pact ol' blogosphere. If you should see me either examining my fingers getting ready for the kill or full on gnawing in masochistic bliss, for the love of god, stop me. I don't care how, punch me in the face if you have to. I must be stopped at all costs.

I'm what?!?!?!

I thought I:

hated drama
liked changed
was ugly
was less than
was nice
was non-confrontational
was organized
was not worthy
didn't have a story worth telling
would die alone
was unlovable
was CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY
was scared of both success and failure at the same time
was weak
was average
was self-sacrificing
was butch/masculine
was simple
was unmanipulative
was uncreative
was assexual
would be dead by 22...was that an MTV show?
would do drugs forever
would fuck one guy in every state instead of collecting those stupid quarters
would always "damn the man"
would never wear sneakers with work clothes
would never amount to anything
would always be a bridesmaid and never a bride
would hate my mother for all of eternity
couldn't kill someone
wasn't racist, sexist, ageist, or chauvinistic
was a bad cook
would never stop crying
would be able to do 10 (boy!) push-ups and 5 pull-ups by now
waswaswaswaswouldwouldwould...I think that's it.

Today I realized I was completely wrong.

I am/have/did/will do OR am not/haven't/didn't/won't the complete opposite of everything above.

I don't really love vodka.

But it sure as hell is making me happy right now.

I have decided to deal with my work troubles by getting drunk every night this week. I end up being so preoccupied with my hangover the next morning that I don't think about anything else.

Sometimes when I'm really really hungover I have to keep checking that I'm wearing pants. Thankfully I am wearing them every time.

And thankfully TNA is on. I used to watch wrestling during college, back when the WWE was the WWF and Raw and Nitro were fun. I hate Kurt Angle. He should shove his olympic medals up his ass. Stephanie McMann was a hot dirty whore then, too. I miss college.

Grey Goose is my friend. I decided a year or two ago that I shall aspire to become Karen from Will and Grace. Just be a drunken, snarky, perky breasted biyatch. I'm TOTALLY on my way. Bloody Marys have become my favorite drinks ever.

Who the hell is Conan? I hear him yelling, but I never heard of him...

I have decided to leave Company, for no other reason than to save my liver. I hate stupid.

CW11 shows rock

Okay, I just watched America's Next Top Model and The Pussycat Dolls Show: The Search for the Next Doll. I really wish they called it The Search for the Next Pussy.

I like watching reality tv gameshows more than anything else right now. They show me how to communicate, the difference between working hard and working smart, and how perception is everything.

My perception of the last couple of weeks is that my bosses want me out. Soaps said I'm difficult, a bad communicator, and a slacker. I'm told all this six weeks after getting a sweet raise and a huge bonus. Hello mixed signals.

He also said that my goal to be head of the division one day will never happen, that I was hired as a number cruncher and that's all I will ever be.

Ugh. I hate everyone.

Dreams can come true

My worklife has been a mess since my birthday. That stupid shit with Red escalated into a whole week of misunderstandings, arguments, and negative vibes with Soaps. It's so bad that I am ready to quit. I've always said that Company was my dream job, but why did I think that before I got there?

I thought I would:

1. get paid to talk about characters I love.
2. get paid to work in an industry I love.
3. get free cbooks.
4. meet my favorite writers and artists.
5. meet Stanley (no I'm not stupid and I know you're not either).

You know what? I got all five. That's awesome, but Company just flat out makes me feel like shit most of the time.

AARRGHHH. ***DELETED PARAGRAPH***

Oh and V.P. at Company stands for...

Vagina-less Person.

Not only did my therapist laugh out loud, she also wrote it down on her notepad to share with the other mentals.

Enjoy!

I love beer.

Sincerely. I love it with all my heart.

I'm home, it's snowing, and I'm drinking some left over Brooklyn East India Pale Ale from my Super Boobie Bowl party.

I have a stupid grin on my face, left my brother a stupidly long and nonsensical voicemail, and "Closed Match" with about 20 guys on eharmony. Rockin'.

Have I reached the point in my life when Friday nights consist of solo beers and giggling at inside jokes between me and my multiple personalities?

Nah, I'm just gearing up for tomorrow. Yeah yeah, St. Patrick's Day is for amateurs....blah blah blah...

My nationality hasn't influenced my life until recent years, despite my name being pretty darn close to Kelly O'Shamrock. I just never really thought about it. My mom only made corned beef and cabbage on St. Pat's. My dad's specialties were, oddly enough, stromboli and lasagna although he did go on this Irish soda bread kick for a while.

I went to Ireland early 2003, sort of on a whim. And by "on a whim" I mean "against my mom's wishes since I had no money and moved back home yet somehow decided I could afford to go on a two week vacation." I kept saying I was going to our homeland, but yeah, for some reason that didn't stop her biyatching.

Ireland was amazing. I felt like I was plopped into a huge family reunion. Everyone seemed to have my dad's nose, my uncle's long face, my brother's sarcasm. I have never felt a connection like that before...it really did feel like home.

I'm pretty sure it was right after that trip that I began to consciously identify myself as Irish. Trust me, there ain't no hiding my nationality. I got the freckles, the mouth, and the beer belly to prove where my ancestors came from. I realize now though none of that mattered; I just had to feel it.

Well I feel it now and am proud to be an Irish woman. For the life of me I can never remember why St. Patrick's Day is a holiday and I can't tell you anything about the country's history or how my own family ended up in America....but I'll be damned if anyone thinks I'm going to miss a day celebrated with lots o' beer drinking and red-faced fun.

Get to know your friends.

I just filled out one of those "Get to know your friends" chain emails. Questions range from "favorite flower" to "what did you have for breakfast" to "beavers or ducks." That last one is aching to have a dirty joke attached; oddly enough I can't seem to squeeze one out.

I have the best group of girlfriends of all time. Growing up I had some pretty crappy friendships. I was always The Third Girl. You know the group: two girls are best friends who dress and talk alike. One is the bad egg, the other follows since she can't think for herself. Then there's The Third Girl who is either tall or fat or both, connects The Two with The Others, and inevitably has to sit next to a stranger or by herself on roller coaster rides.

Of all the friends I've had over the years, I never met anyone that I connected with on all levels. It wasn't until my first job out of school that I met the Petes, seven lovely ladies who absolutely mean the world to me.

When we first started hanging out we were all about drinking, dancing and getting laid (at least I was!). Over time we started blacking out less, remembering conversations more, and eventually becoming really close. There have been plenty of good times and thankfully only some bad. Regardless, somehow everything we've been through has made our connection stronger.

It's exciting to be a part of my friends' lives right now. We are all growing into ourselves, finding our path, figuring out what the next step is. One of the girls is now married, another just got engaged, two more will probably get engaged soon. Us singles have been pretty focused on our careers lately and thankfully we are all successful, kickass power-women.

I love my ladies and am forever grateful to have them in my lives. Thank you Shizza for sending me the Petes!

Okay I lied.

I'm not over that guy yet. I'm home sick today and I just found out that his long distance girlfriend is in the office. I can't stop crying.

I like this guy so much and he knows it. It's been almost eight months now and it won't stop. Every time I think I'm over him he either says or does something that makes me like him again. It fucking blows.

Donovan (his new alias) is everything I ever wanted. He's funny, smart, warm, silly, and just an overall good guy. He's got a big build and warm face, a real life teddy bear. I think he's absolutely beautful inside and out.

I've never had lukewarm feelings for anyone. If I like you, I love you. I love Donovan with my heart and soul. It hurts so much not to have it reciprocated. It's torture having my dream guy just out of reach.

I have no idea what I would have done had I been in the office today. I think I would have laid under my desk in the fetal position and waited for her to leave. I can't help but feel that he betrayed me in some way by bringing her on my turf. Maybe it's the fact that he didn't consider my feelings about it, but then again why should he? My world revolves around me, his world revolves around him.

At this point I've had such a roller coaster relationship with Donovan in my fantasy world that I can't even imagine what it would truly be like in reality. I don't know why I can't just let go. There's no reason to have hope after this long.

I signed up for eharmony a couple of weeks ago. It's okay, much better than shopping for sausage on Match. I'm practically forcing myself to be interested in the guys on there, but I can't. I think I should just accept that I'm in a miserable dating rut and leave it at that.

Shitballs.

Why Thighs?

I have 26 inch thighs. It's the equivalent of having a toddler wrapped around my femur.

My thighs have been my dirty little secret for years. Of course anyone who sees me walking down the street can see that I'm pear shaped, rubenesque if you will. I've had an active sex life and definitely not shy under the sheets, but I never, ever wear shorts and only wear skirts that cover my knees.

So why would I name myself Thighs if my own are something I hate and am ashamed of? Oddly enough, it just feels right.

Of the few clear childhood memories I have, I remember the first time I noticed my thighs were bigger than other girls. I was in first grade and the class was sitting on our knees singing a song, slapping the tops of our legs. I looked around at all the petite girls with their small little thighs that barely made any noise while mine sounded like thunder. I was the tallest girl in class so it made sense I'd have thicker legs, but it was at that moment that I had discovered my thighs and decided that they were ugly.

Over 20 years later, I still feel the same way. Naming myself Thighs is my way of facing my dirty little secret and sharing it with the world. Here's hoping this will help me learn to love them no matter what size they are.

Countdown to 30.

I was thinking about what I wanted the theme of this blog to be. I was tempted to delete this blog and start off fresh with my latest reccurring thought...I turn 30 next year.

It reminds me of when I first got my period (no I have never seen the Vagina Monologues). I was 11 years old, no one was home but my grandmother who was visiting for a few days. Ever since I was kid my inner monologue becomes a Wonder Years/Sex in the City voice over, especially when I reach a milestone of sorts. "Are you there God? It's me, Thighs. Today I became a woman, but I don't feel like one. Am I supposed to? Do I have to start wearing makeup?" Fast forward 18 years to today, when my random thoughts about turning 30 can be shared with the zero people reading this.

Thought number one, my countdown to 30 is special enough to delete my previous posts. Why? Okay, this is a huge leap, but maybe it's all about clean slates. And what is a clean slate? Is it literally erasing my past or the acceptance of it, with the peace of knowing it made me who I am today?

I LOVED that Eagles fan up until last week, my Internet went out again for a little while, and while I'm only 7 weeks into 2007, I'm pretty darn excited for this year.

My mind races all the time, why wouldn't my blog? Even the 6 o'clock news has its water-skiing squirrel moments.

Odd years

I wasn't a fan of odd years until five minutes ago. Every recent odd year has been an exhausting and emotional roller coaster:

1999, 21 years old:
Broke up with my best friend which meant I had to live with people I didn't know; started breaking up with my boyfriend; failed out of college; relationship with my mother went to shit.

2001:
Had to move back home after college; many, many fights with my mom; adjusted to a 9 to 5 job in the city; and of course the terrorist attack.

2003:
Left my first company for another one in the same industry, it was horrible for a good six months; weighed almost 200 pounds.

2005:
Left my second company for my absolute dream company, only to find out it is the dumbest run company of all time; had nervous breakdown.

And then it hit me. After each miserable odd year came an amazing even year:

2000:
Got back into college and graduated; had some great times in the house with the people I originally didn't know; survived the break up.

2002:
Met the Petes at my first company, seven ladies who are my very best friends to this day.

2004:
Moved into an apartment in New York that I absolutely love; lost 23 pounds.

2006:
Still at dream company, loving it more and more every day; have a brand new, healthy relationship with my mom; in therapy and really enjoying it.

And now it's 2007. When I began to type I was going to say I'm worried what this year will bring. Now I'm pretty excited because I'm sure whatever happens I will find the strength to make it through.

Son of a!!

It's almost two months since my first posts. It's all Kirsten Dunst's fault.

I have the same bone structure as her so whenever I get my hair did I always look at her latest do, see if it's something I'd like.

I googled "Kirsten Dunst hairstyles" and stupidly clicked on the first site that popped up. It ended up being a porn site, something about her pubic hairstyle. No biggie, I love porn and for those of you who have seen Avenue Q know that the internet was created only for porn.

As I continue browsing for a good site, I started getting a couple pop-ups. Within an hour I had so many pop ups that my computer crashed. Luckily my dad is in IT so he helped me fix it by wiping out my hard drive and starting over.

So now that my computer is working again, I totally plan on keeping up with my blog.

And I can't help but laugh about writing "those of you"...none of my friends know about this yet. Probably because so far there's nothing really to know!