I am something of a cat woman.

I have realized that I'm probably going to be one of those mothers who has a really really hard time on their child's first day of kindergarten.

I've never been great at change or letting go, which come to think of it is pretty odd considering the number of times (many) that I've moved in the past few years. Or the past year for that matter (3). And I'm not talking about moving within the same city (even though that would be pretty insaneeee anyway). I'm talking about moving across the country and then back to the same state but a different city.

But you all know that story by now. This is about something else.

So right. I imagine my child's first day of kindergarten will go something like this.

Her (or him I suppose) @ 5 a.m.: Hi mommy! I want to go to school! Can we leave now?

Me (who hasn't slept a wink and probably cried herself to sleep because this is basically the first step that will eventually lead to her child going off to college, getting married, and (obviously) dying): Hrmphhh? School? Today isn't the first day of school honey. You must have gotten confused. That's okay. Do you want to sleep with mommy and daddy?

(Because obviously I will also be the same sort of parent that wants her child to sleep with her until they are well past the age that it's socially acceptable for one to do things like that.)

Husband-figure: Ummm...dear today is the...

(I'll hit him here really hard, under the blanket of course so the child isn't privy to martial abuse.)

Me: Today is what now dear? Today is Christmas in September! Let's go get a Christmas tree and decorate it and you can open some presents!

(Because I'll also be the sort of parent who spoils their child excessively, which is obvious to anyone who has seen me interact with my cats and how they have me totally whipped and trained. I feel bad telling them to get off the counters. Mmmm...sanitary.)

Anyway, so yeah - the conversation will probably go on like this for another 5-10 minutes, at which point my poor, exhausted husband will pick me up, throw me over his shoulder, dump me in the shower, and while I'm in there get our child ready for school and by the time I get out, they will have left.

And then I'll cryyyyy and cry.

(Disclaimer for any future husbands out there: this possibly might be a slight exaggeration. Really. Swear I'm normal. Swear.)

Seis de Mayo!

Today, like all days, is many things to many people. For those in Indiana and North Carolina, it's a little something called "the day that we decide NOT to vote for Hilary Clinton" (please). For those who might have had a little bit too much to drink last night, it might be known as "The Day I threw up at work (andinmycarandinmybedlastnightandallovermycomputerwhoops)."

For me? It's known as the day that my boyfriend gets back from Costa Rica (finaaaaally). It's also known as the day that I scored two Radiohead tickets for face value for a show just two days away. Rock. So, yeah, we like today. Today is good.


Seis de Mayo also happens to be the name of a Trey Anastasio solo album, but we don't have to think about that...

My first pastemagazine.com piece!

Atmosphere's Slug and Ant paint lemons gold, go on tour

Ch-check, check, check it out!

Encore, do ya want more?

...no, not really, but thanks for asking.

Seriously. There are few things in life that I dislike more than encores. Which makes me an odd fan I'm sure - I mean who doesn't want to see their favorite band play a few more songs after they've already walked off stage.

Um, me. I really, really don't. Broken Social Scene became even more dear to my heart when I went to their show last year and, after playing a few intro songs, informed the audience that they weren't going to do an encore. They just weren't.

I just don't get it. At plays there isn't an unspoken requirement that everyone stand up for the actors. If the actors were good - great. Standing ovation. If not, freaking keep ya butt in the seat. Maybe they're crying backstage, but who cares? Tough love.

My so-called life

Isn't it strange that at the age of 27 I still feel like I'm 15. Does anyone ever age in their own mind?

Most of the time I walk around my life with the internal image of my self when I was that age. I walk up to liquor store counters fearing that I'm going to get carded and they'll think it's a fake. Even though I've been legally allowed to buy alcohol for six (agh), nearly seven years.

Even though while I was a teenager I wished to god that I would just grow up already, now I wish that I could go back. Not all the time - there are times that I'm so glad that I'm out of high school that I could cry - but sometimes.

Tonight I was watching My So-Called Life, and there was a scene where Angela is sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine and her parents are doing spring cleaning. And I remembered. That feeling of safety. The feeling that bugs teenagers so much of the time, that makes them want to escape, is the feeling that we're trying to get back most of the rest of lives. The reason that we create families of our own. Children. Buy houses. And the works.

Safety. Oh, how I miss it.

I can't quit you baby...

For the last year I've been cheating. It's true. I've been cheating, and I'm here to state, out loud, and proud, that it's over. I promise. I swear. It's over. I can't continue with my life in the manner I have been over the last few months. It's too confusing, swapping back and forth between both of you, never knowing who I'm going to go home to. I've been known to confuse your names, and I even legally changed one of your names to be more like the other. It's got to stop.

Over the past year I've opened blog after blog and then forgotten to write in them. Nothing compares...no nothing compares to yoooooou. Really though. I can't seem to keep up writing in any blog but this one. So I'm back. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. It's been mostly sickness recently, but I'm hoping that the health is a'comin' soon.

I'll make it come soon...