I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Hello, dear readers! I'm back! Quiet now. Calm down. Ok, more cheering! More! Ok, stop. You may be asking yourself, "Where the hell has this bitch been?" or "How did I survive without her for this long?" I will address these questions in reverse chronological order: I'm not sure how you survived without me, but clearly you did because you're reading this. I hope you feel better. In response to your (very rude) first question, I can't tell you where I've been because I'm now a part of the witness protection program. What? Blogging is a bad idea if you're trying to fly under the radar? Whatever, shut up. For lack of better excuses, suffice it to say that I took some time off to get older. This may be demonstrated by the fact that I will be turning 29 for the second time in four days. That's 31 in old people years, but whatever...this is my blog and I'll be 29 if I want to. In celebration of the second anniversary of my 29th birthday, I have created a timeline of my life for your reading pleasure. Because I'm really good at counting by fives, and exciting things (or not) happen every five years of my life, I will arrange my timeline as such. Shall we? (Cue time travel music)

YEAR 0: I was born on what I would presume was a very cold day in December of 1978. Make that the 11th. It very well could have been unseasonably warm that day, but stories of births are always much more fun when it's cold outside. So, anyway, it was cold. I popped out of my mother's birth canal at approximately 8:50 pm on a Monday (I think) night. I was probably gooey and bloody and screaming and according to records, I weighed exactly 8 pounds and was 21" long. I was a cute baby. My mother claimed to have tried to breastfeed me, but she didn't try hard enough and ended up feeding me sub par 1970's baby formula, which most assuredly contained Mercury and other cancer-causing carcinogens. I will never forgive her for this.

YEAR 5: Now, years 0-4 of my life were spent being cute, but something happened on year 5 and I started to eat more. I was still cute though and had very long (as in Fundamentalist Christian length) blonde hair. Despite the fact that I was a fat child and spent the greater part of the year in a cast because I decided to walk backwards down a hill and broke my ankle (thank you, 1970's baby formula for making me smart), I had a lot of success in kindergarten. I learned to share with others and even experienced my first kiss on the school bus en route to a fieldtrip. His name was Christopher and he had red hair and freckles and was about a foot shorter than me. We were a match made in misfit heaven. Kindergarten is also noteable because of what we'll call "The Worst School Picture Ever". I was in the process of losing my first tooth, but my baby tooth wouldn't get the fuck out of the way and make room for the larger tooth behind it, so I looked like I was wearing Billy Bob teeth. A fat baby with Billy Bob teeth, dressed up like a Fundamentalist Mormon on school picture day. My mother finds great joy in my kindergarten picture. I will never forgive her for this.

YEAR 10: Did I say that kindergarten was the year of "The Worst School Picture Ever"? That was a lie. By 5th grade, I was in full-fledged awkward mode. Not only was I taller than every.single.person.in.my.class., but I was fatter. And I had a bad perm. Also, do you remember those sweet-ass pink plastic framed glasses that were all the rage in the 80's? Yeah, I had those. And remember the Billy Bob teeth I was sporting in my kindergarten picture? I still had those, but by this time they were permanent. I also switched schools in 5th grade to a more hoity-toity school where the children didn't appreciate my kitschy awkwardness as much as those at my other school. Also, my teacher was a man. I had only had women teachers up until this point. I enjoyed my 5th grade teacher, because he cleaned his ears with his car keys in the middle of class. I thought he was an awesome guy, but a few years later he killed his wife and then himself. Not so awesome. Moving on...

YEAR 15: Ah, things are getting a little better on the awkward front. By this time, I had had braces and they were off. I lost weight and my perm grew out. I was actually kind of cute again. But despite the fact that I was cute, I was still a weird child (shocker, huh?). Always one with a desire to be "different", I experimented with odd combinations of clothing usually acquired at Goodwill. This always solicited snickers from snobby girls walking behind me in the hall, but whatever because I got my first boyfriend in 9th grade! We'll call him "Horrible Kisser" to protect his identity. Horrible Kisser invited me over to his house to watch The Last of the Mohicans and make out. He tried to put his hand down my pants, but I put him in an arm bar to foil his advances. He went to school the next day and told everyone that I clamped my legs shut. I will never forgive him for this.

YEAR 20: We'll call this the "Year of Poor Decisions". By 20, I had completed my first year of college, met a guy we'll call "Practice Husband" and became sperminated. Now, let me clarify that I don't consider my son (the product of said spermination) a "poor decision". Well, at least not until he pisses me off or doesn't clean up after himself. But for the most part, I consider him a "sound decision". Practice Husband, on the other hand, was a bit of a poor life decision. For the record, getting married at 20 is generally a bad idea. We hated each other and our marriage ended in violence. I gave him a black eye. Serves him right...I told him about the wire hangers, but he just wouldn't listen. That's not the real reason, but it's much funnier than the real reason...so for the purpose of storytelling, that's the reason. For the record, I HAVE forgiven him and we get along swimmingly now.

YEAR 25: After my divorce and a few years of reckless abandon, I finally started to act like a human around this time. Started to, anyway. I ALMOST fucked my life up royally by marrying a guy I'll call "Complete Douchebag". We were engaged for a whole month before I realized that my life would be over if I married him. Luckily, I got out of that one by the skin of my teeth and quickly moved on to the love of my life, my current husband who we'll call "Captain Awesome". We met on match.com. We're both cute, so we'd make an awesome commercial. We dated for eight months and decided to throw reason and good sense out the window and get married. So far, it's worked out pretty well. And we made another person. She's cute and she's 2 and she asks a lot of questions and has her father's eyebrows.

YEAR 30: Nothing really noteworthy happened this past year, but I finally feel like I'm "coming into my own" as they say. It sounds cliche, but despite the wrinkles slowly creeping up on my face, I feel like I truly am aging like a fine wine. Or 1970's baby formula...(pastey white and lumpy in spots?)