Thursday.
Its now Sunday.
I think I was abducted by aliens.
NaBloPoMo excuse #5572
Nov27
Monthly Archives: November 2011
Nov24
Live Blogging from the Feast Preparation
I’m down two glasses of wine. Everything is ready for the oven, the turkey is actually done, and at my sister’s behest, I have called my grandmother.
I am cooking for the kids, the ex, and the housemate.
When I say that, I get this weird eyebrow response. Yes, I’m awesome. I’m not only making a turkey, against my moral fiber, but I’m making it for people, with the exception of one or two, who could really care less. Why? Fuck if I know. That’s why I poured my first glass of wine at 10am.
But, enough of the misery. Thanksgiving also brings about a montage of memories. From the Thanksgivings that my mom prepared, my Grandma prepared, my step family subjected me to (Polish Thanksgivings are weird, yo) and then my adult experiences with recreating said memories for my own family. The friends who have come through my home… The BellyDancer (twice, thrice? I can’t remember!), Lola and Family (tee hee!), the guy from college and his dad, the second family in Arkansas (Tammy! Mom!) and, today, just The Crew.
Thanksgiving Thankfulness? I’m glad you asked! I have a lot of gratitude to spread around…
Me! Because, no matter how whiny I am, I’m still a fighter, and have an abundance of opportunities before me… things that I will make my bitch.
My kids. They keep me crazy, they keep me sane. They mess up my house and they bring me beautiful photos of flowers, butterflies and minivans. There is never a dull moment with them, and that’s exactly why I love them. Plus, well, tax deductions.
My friends. LadyHawk, Freckles, Mo, Freedom, Pizzle, Q, P.S., TribalMeg, Smidge, FunDee, Sapphire, and everyone who takes the time to tell me that I’m not entirely insane, most days.
My family, which is pretty much my sister, her family and our Grandmother. Sharing DNA can be a true adventure.
My clients. Seriously.
I’m thankful for the opportunity to babble endlessly about myself, here, make a living online and to have been smart enough to turn a hobby into a relatively unique career.
Oh, and lastly, roller skating… because now I have a hobby that doesn’t involve chemicals. Hell yeah.
Nov23
I am SUCH a Bitch!
You can ask around, and most people will tell you that at one point or another, I have totally done something bitchtastic. Probably to that person, but, whatever. Bygones!
I even have a jacket that proclaims my bitchitude, courtesy of my mama. Its a well known fact that when you have apparel with words on it, you are officially an important member of that word club. Look it up.
But, first, you must all read about me… because, sometimes, blogging incessantly about myself just isn’t enough. I like it when other people recognize the pearl inside this oyster… the sun behind the clouds… the little man in the boat… oh, wait, we’ll just stick with the pearl analogy.
Read my Bitch Chat with P.S. Jones, owner and head Bitch of The Bitch Blog, author, fellow freelancer and perhaps one of my favorite people I’ve never met.
Nov22
A Word of Thanks
Even as I sit here, at almost an hour past when I wanted to lay down and fall asleep because I have been writing for two days straight and instead worked on a website and a client’s frantic call for help, totally ignoring my plan to edit that pesky thing that needs to be edited…
I am completely, totally and utterly grateful to you. Somehow, even though I am terrified of what is ahead, and even if you make me crazy on a regular basis… today, you kept me sane.
Thank you 
Nov21
Heartless.
…and rambly! Yay!
I joke a lot about being without guilt or remorse. I embrace the Virgo exterior I am supposed to portray – emotionless, logical, full of blank stares and meh.
People, dear readers, stalkers and haters, I have a confession: I am, indeed, heartless.
Why?
Because a whole lot of mother fuckers have broken my heart into bits and there is NOTHING left. So, fuck off.
That being said, I hate hurting other people. It kind of kills me in a way that I am extremely uncomfortable with. Even the introduction of delicious toffee-coated popcorn into my saddened mouth was not enough to make that sort of feeling go away tonight. I may be heartless, but only when it counts, I suppose. LeSigh. An old boss of mine once told me I was doing something wrong (me? what?) and I may have teared up a bit once the verbal cautioning was over. He then took me to lunch and told me that I shouldn’t wear my heart on my sleeve.
Suck it up, Melia. You’ll be fine. And, really, I was fine. Not that it was one of the more poignant moments in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever showed emotion like that to a relative stranger again. Even now, it takes an act of total dismay and complete fear to get me to shed a tear, giving me the appearance of being heartless… a visual that I guess, for better or worse, serves me well.
I even had the thought that the eye luggage I carry is the result of my inability to cry. I tried to make myself cry, and nothing happened. But, that wasn’t to have an emotional moment, it was all for the sake of vanity. Total fail.
No, wait, that’s wrong. I did almost cry the other night, but that was during a rather, uh, lonely and interesting session of, uh, stuff.
In unrelated news, did you know that it freaks guys out if you cry during/after sex? Weird, no?
Ahem.
I’m not trying to be a bitch anymore, I just want to have control of my life back in my hands. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, even if it probably adds into my inability to accept help from people, and my total inability to commit to anything with a pulse, like even for a date.
I guess if that makes me heartless, so be it. I’ll be in the corner, crying into my embittered hands, really hoping that nobody hates me once all is said and done. Since I can’t wear my heartless heart on my sleeve, I’ll just smile and nod and keep looking straight ahead, hoping that people understand.
Heh, Kanye. I know someone just raised a waxed eyebrow at me.