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11:24 a.m. - 2010-12-31
Where'd The Time Go?

Hi guys! Funny how a year can get away from you. Thinking back it didn't seem like much happened in 2010. Took a stroll through the year's archives to refresh my memory and was surprised to see that, yes, quite a few things of significance happened this year. But in among the big stuff Life also chugged along. Rather than trying to hit all the high and low notes or do a pithy summation of what 2010 meant to me, I thought I'd grab a line or two from the year's entries nearest the beginning, middle and end of every month and see what I had to say.

What I found out is I am a lot crabbier and snarkier than I think I am.

2010- A Year in Quotes

Hood up, hands in pockets pulling the hoodie downward and taut, head drawn inside as far as possible (all the better to get that coveted Darth Sidious effect) sloping along behind us at the required sullen pre-teen 20 yards, and I realize my beautiful son has become one of THEM. A hoodie kid.

My simple plain white t-shirt and dead plain black fleece yoga pants got A LOT of stares. Sneers, even. I didn't let it bother me nor will I be trotting off to the Goodwill to buy a dental smock and some glittery bloomers to work out in, but really, today's performance of '3 Penny Opera' staged by blind chimpanzees with a Village People fetish was ridiculous.

…though I have been taken to task many, many, many times for larding my speech with way too many 50 cent words. Well excuse me for having an above average command of the language. Insecure buttwads. Yeah, I got up this morning with the sole intent of making you feel like an ignoramus. Sheesh.

Wolf cocked his head at me, the quizzical look on his face told me I was speaking Mom Martian again.

I'm sitting here eyeballing a box of Lindor and wondering how many truffles constitute a good breakfast.

The worst for me is the magnolia. It's decimated. Huge, old, and graceful the magnolia is (was…oh god) in direct line of sight from my kitchen window, and it above all others was my friend.

"Oy, child, you are on my last nerve here. For the last time, you are a boy. A 12 year old boy who someday will be very glad you got your mom's good looks. You could look like your unfortunate Uncle Red, you know. They use his face for Halloween mask molds."

My bedside clock is still off and the little clock that lives on my desk is now on the correct time, but this is only because I never got around to changing it off daylight saving time last fall.

This keyboard better not test my loyalty too much, we got our Fed refund and the shopping is on, baby.

So once in a while I'd impress her (my mother) with some 'fact' I made up out of whole cloth, always something that sounded real brainiac like how a certain kind of lichen only grew on lightning-struck trees or how Madagascar was the only place on Earth where the rivers ran east-to-west and like the complete schmuck that she was she'd go into the office the next day and tell everyone this cool thing she knew.

The demands of trying to be a caring human being, an informed voter, a smart consumer, a good mom who is forever searching out the best and most helpful things for her kids, an involved American and one who still recognizes she's part of the world community too, well, it just got to be overwhelming.

I don't say much about it, this pain, something that mystifies Mick to no end. The man is incapable of getting through the agonies of a mosquito bite without bitching about it constantly for days and days, so my lack of complaint is beyond weird to him.

It's one thing to want to honor and remember a dead loved one, it's quite another to turn your vehicle into a rolling headstone.

Will I always be sad and sorry we'll never have a real wedding party? Yeah, probably. But it won't be this stinking cloud over everything, an empty hurting place that seemed both symbol and summation of how everything had gotten so sour and sad and fucked up from almost the minute we'd said "I do" back in November.

When we speak it's obvious the ex is wanting and waiting for me to be all interested in what's doing with him and ask those talk show host questions as I used to, but I truly don't care what he's up to.

Do you ever feel like everyone in the whole world ate a big bowl of stupid for breakfast?

WRONG! No lie, the piled up, wrinkled tangles of clothing, bedding, and towels almost reached the ceiling.

So. A wildly overpriced pizza party is a blip. And was worth it anyhow if fun can be measured in dollars because my kid and his pals had a million bucks worth of fun.

Mick and I ran away from home yesterday and it was GREAT!

Sure the vast majority of us don't stomp around growling, "Crush. Kill. Destroy." Women would have never invented the Atom bomb. But think on this, a guy can belt another guy in the face and then 10 minutes later they can shake it off and go have a beer together. Women? Never.

Taking a 2 year old to a fair is stupid. 2 year olds, especially those trapped in strollers, don't like fairs. You want to entertain a 2 year old? Give him a box of tissues. 2 year olds adore tissues.

In high school we'd sometimes bring bottles of bubble juice to school and fill bubbles with exhaled smoke then chase the swirling opaque bubbles around asking, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" What can I say? It was the 1970s and everyone had a 'chronic' condition.

(Don't get me started on Hollywood's fixation on violence toward women as a prime source of material, shit goes back to the silent days when Little Nell was tied to the railroad tracks and hasn't stopped since.)

So I did my careful tiptoeing around the cyberverse without protection for lo many years and all was well. But…sigh…last week my luck ran out and I got an infection.

In any case you could buy Kaboom cereal in Texas because every Texan carries a gun and a Bible and if you weren't converted by being bludgeoned with a Revised New Testament then they'd shoot you dead, so your odds of living long enough to get Kaboom cancer were slim to none anyhow so you could eat all the Kaboom you wanted worry-free.

I guess it's just that for the first time Mick feels allowed. Allowed to be happy. Allowed to want all the good things- love, peace of mind, satisfaction, happiness. That it's okay to have a good life even if the world isn't perfect.

But even if my hair hadn't already been Viagra-ed into sticking straight up it'd have been standing on end just from the sheer terror of voluntarily committing myself to all the paperwork and testing deemed necessary to have my most personal bits hacked with scalpels and lasers come Monday.

I walk with my strong shoes
Their soles soft thudding
On the floor.

Everybody wins, even my obstreperous boobies with their ridiculous thing about tasting my dinner for themselves.

Amazing how much energy I have for keeping my bod healthy now that I'm not struggling back against 68 atmospheres of stress pressure all the time.

Nothing epic or lastingly tragic just cartload after cartload of completely unnecessary angsty crap from Mick and my son, The Teenage Drama King.

Poor Princess got zapped by a skunk. Not the full monty, thank goodness, but even a little skunk juice goes a long way.

There's one lonely little baggie of turkey bits left. Today's lunch for me. Just enough for my favorite sandwich- turkey with cranberry sauce on potato bread with mayo.

What else do you call a mild fever, runny sinuses, queasiness, a throat that feels annealed, and an over-active and shaky lower bowel?

I am so weary and broken from these people. I'm so sick of being made to clean up the mess.

I can just imagine after all these years of my menstrual TMI that when (if?) I ever finally go through the Change someone will start a Facebook page about it. "Click here if you're glad LA is finally off the rag!"

And that, my dear ones, was my year. Wishing all of you a happy healthy and hopeful 2011. Thanks for reading.

See you next year, ~LA

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