You never see squirrels taking dumps. You see dogs do it, why not squirrels?

Last year started horribly. Just like that. From a few hours before the countdown, things went to hell. The year started with the biggest shakeup of our relationship. It started on New Years Eve, and was not the way you want to ring in the new year. Still, in the midst of this personal turmoil I found myself with the first of many bladder infections I would pick up this year.
Early in the year, Jen had to have a major operation and the stress prior to and the effort in the recovery afterward left me dazed and useless to my friends.
I did not get pregnant as planned.
I met a number of assholes over the year.
But things got better.
We took a long hard look at our relationship. Evaluated it and made necessary changes. We celebrated our 9th anniversary this September and I have no doubt that we will be celebrating many more. Many thanks go out to my closest friends who helped share the burden of this trying time.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my bladder infections are psychosomatic as they only show up during stressful times. Of course, once I realized that, I went and lost my voice. You can’t have it all, I guess.
The surgery was a tough time for both of us, but Jen is now 300% healthier than she was before. I have to tell you, though, nothing in the world prepares you for either the sight of the one person you love completely being rolled away into the operating room, or seeing her in obvious post-op pain. I am glad to close the book on this chapter.
This newfound health brought us more travel. We became more impulsive and found ourselves in Colorado at 3am watching the stars in the velvet sky as a tow truck driver hoisted my car onto his truck. I saw the desert and the ocean and faces carved into mountains.
No baby this year. This was the hardest decision to make. Harder even than the decision to have a baby in the first place. We realized we weren’t ready. I turn 30 in June and I live in fear of my biological clock. It doesn’t get quieter just because you’ve decided to wait. In place of a baby, we purchased furniture and filled up the photo albums with pictures of the cats. This may sound like I regret the decision to not have a baby, but that isn’t the case. I still have a few more years and as I posted before, Amsterdam is calling my name.
I met a lot of assholes this year and if you are reading this and wondering if you are one of them, perhaps you were. In addition to the assholes I also met some very good friends. Ethan, Nate and Jason are among those I’ve met in person. I’ve cut some dead weight and become more selective about those I keep close by and I’m happier for it.
This last year taught me to try harder, be patient, and stick to my guns when necessary. It started out terribly, but it turned out to be one of the best years ever.
2003 started out with PMS and tears, but nothing terrible. I look forward to this year and I wish you all (yes, all 18 of you) the best of luck!

It is now less than 6 months from my 30th birthday. I panic occasionally. Deep in the chest, tingly fingers kind of panic. Most people tell me to relax, not as big a deal as I make it out to be.
But it is a big deal. I spent my 20’s looking at people in their 30’s trying to hold on to their youth and it looked pathetic. So I partied in my 20’s but I tempered it by working and saving and being just responsible enough so that when I did turn 30 I would have this nifty little adult life all set up. Turn the page and here I am, all set up. I have the house and the job and the cars and the relationship and the matching furniture set. I hit 30 somewhere around 28 and forgot to continue living in my 20’s.
Shit
Now I have 6 months to pack those lost 18 months into. I need something fast, effective and appropriately decadent. I need a habit that will force me to pawn my stuff, vomit on my new carpeting and wrap my car around a bridge support. I want the words ‘grotesque’ and ‘spectacular’ used to describe my freefall. ‘Trainspotting’ will look like a vacation guide to a sunny resort. ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ will make sense to you.
I want to explode in a bright, technicolor burst of drugs and mayhem.
And when I get back from Amsterdam, I want my regularly scheduled life back.

I’ve always been a big fan of keeping a few generic gifts tucked away in the closet in case of an emergency…
“Wait.. it’s your birthday??? Didn’t you have a birthday last year, mom?”
I don’t have keening piles of ‘estate sale’ detritus accumulating in the corners. I don’t clear entire shelves at the dollar store. I don’t have hand made crafts. Usually, I keep a few vases on hand and for the slightly more interesting people, those decorative wine bottle gift box tube things that I can put a bottle straight off my wine rack into. I am decently prepared.
Last night, as we were finishing up the last of our shopping, we ended up at SexWorld. We went to pick up something specific for a good friend (I won’t mention what it was as he hasn’t opened it yet), but in browsing we came across a couple of things that could not possibly be left behind and yet we did not want or need them ourselves, nor did we know who to give them to. There are two items:
First off, we have the ‘Official Metal Handcuffs’, in red. Everyone needs handcuffs, I’m just not sure who yet. These seem very nice, very real, heavy and all. They tout the slogan “with passive restraint your lover will beg for more”. Seems promising if you ask me. Since I already have an entire physical restraint system set up, handcuffs seem redundant.
Less practical and more horrifying is the Boy Toy Brand Vibrating novelty..well..vibrator! There was a series of 3 novelty vibrators (in this line, I mean the store was packed full of vibrators, novelty and otherwise). These are ‘pocket rocket’ size vibes with elongated heads, little man bodies and thematically appropriate, removable hats. The first was a little French chef named ‘Chef Frenchie’. The second was a jolly Beefeater-style palace guard amusingly named ‘Pvt Private’. The one I purchased wasn’t amusing or erotic, it was purely horrifying. I have in my possession one Vibo the Clown. Yes, people, I now own a vibrating clown with dead cross eyes and a carousel tattooed on his head. This is the perfect gift for someone, I just don’t know who yet. For Christ’s sake, it’s an erotic toy made up to look like the antithesis of erotic. It is everything that is wrong with popular culture in America.
Keep checking under your trees, people, Santa might be extra nice to you this year!

Last night, after we were done chatting and laughing and making fun of you, I rolled over to go to sleep. My mind wandered and after a bit I faded out.
Then I saw HIM in the doorway coming at me. He took up the whole space and I didn’t know how he got in there.
I shrieked. I jumped and screamed and let loose some bad ass terror fighting vocals.
And Jen screamed with me.
And he disappeared, he was never there, but she kept screaming so I kept screaming. And we screamed bloody murder for an eternity. Finally I had to scream at her that there was nothing there, I had dreamed it.
So what did I see? A man, a huge man, filling up the entire doorway and coming at me. And what was so special about this man? Besides the obvious fear of invasion played out by this sudden nightmare, what else could possibly be wrong? His head. Yeah, his head was a combination cheese grater/juice pitcher. Some giant Tupperware demon of convenience invaded my psyche and set me to shrieking at 1am.
Good night.