Twelve. Seven. And One thousand one hundred fifty.

Twelve.

Today is my 12th anniversary working for you-know-who. Wow. When I started this job I was a lot younger, skinnier, and blonder. I was also a lot less bruised by life. I had more energy but less stress. I drove a Mitsubishi that was 1/2 way paid for. I'd just moved back to Austin after being gone for five years, and lived in a rented house with horrible carpet and a man I would marry and divorce. I had lots of free time and saw lots of movies and live music. Everyone was freaking about the Millennium and what it would mean to computer systems around the world. My boss was hoarding bottled water and food in his spare bedroom. I had straight hair and bangs. I had a 401k and a savings account. My parents still lived in Longview, which meant somewhat frequent trips to The Pine Curtain. America was not (technically) at war. I smoked a good deal of pot. I was not a mother to anything other than a Siberian husky and an old, grumpy cat. I'd never been to Wisconsin, Michigan, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Oregon, or New Mexico. I didn't know what "genetically modified organisms" or "organic integrity" meant. My dad and stepfather were still alive. I had no tattoos.

Seven.

Today is my 7th Bloggiversary. When I started this blog, I was quite a bit younger, skinnier, and had flaming red hair. I'd been pretty beaten up by life. The world had changed because of 9/11. I drove a VW wagon that was my first V-6. I lived alone in a house rented from a friend that had a great deck and a tiny kitchen. I was dating, but it was nothing serious. I had a 401(k), a savings account, and stock options. I still had all of my reproductive organs and thyroid in tact. I had lots of free time, saw lots of movies and went out a pretty fair amount. America was at war in the Middle East. My grandfather and father had died. My stepfather was in long-term care because of a surgery recovery that had gone awry. There was no Facebook or Twitter. I was about to purchase my first iPod. Everyone was freaking out about the upcoming presidential election. I smoked pot, but only occasionally. Katrina hadn't happened. I'd started the international adoption process, but hadn't yet been matched with a baby. I was a mother to an old, grumpy cat, and a young, orange butterball cat. That summer, I'd ridden to the hospital in an ambulance because I collapsed at work due to stress. I'd also attended my second (and last) ACL Fest. I had one tattoo, but no facial piercings.

One thousand one hundred and fifty.

This is my 1,150th post. I am older, fatter, and blonde-ish gray. My hair is curly, longish and layered. Life and I have agreed to a tense truce. The world is divided, bitter, dangerous and filled with selfish and stunning intolerance. I drive a VW convertible that isn't even 1/2 way paid for. I have over 17,000 songs in my iTunes and on my iPod. I live with my husband, daughter, two cats, a dog, a leopard gecko and, occasionally, my stepsons in a house I bought on my own that has a great deck and a tiny kitchen. I have a 401(k), savings account, Roth IRA account, 529 account and stock options. Everyone is freaking about the upcoming presidential election and the Occupy movement. I Facebook and am on Twitter...a lot. I have no free time and almost never see movies. I only go see live music of bands I really love and only if I am guaranteed good seats. America is still at war in the Middle East with no end in sight. My stepfather is dead. My mother is remarried and no longer lives in Longview, so I rarely go to the Pine Curtain any more. Last week, I got physically ill because of work stress. I have one tattoo and my nose is pierced.

Three things I find amazing.

1.) That people would actually stand outside in the 86--wait, did I say 86, I meant to say 96--degree heat for hours just to buy a phone.

2.) That when I took this photo out of the 6th floor of my office building, the sun was actually shining, and there wasn't a raindrop to be seen.

3.) That I've managed to post something--no matter how lame or inept--every single day this week. Woo hoo!! I'm blogcrazy!

I've got three things to say, then I'm going to bed:

1) THIS is why it's called the Pine Curtain, people. So pretty, isn't it? This particular photo was taken on an unusually crisp morning right outside of Mr. Wonderful's dad's lakehouse. And here's another shot, just cuz I like you.

2) Want a hardcore lesson in sexual frustration? Go for a weekender with your long-distance boyfriend (who you only get to see every 6 to 8 weeks or so as it is) and your (very clingy) toddler and his two kids and his dad and his dad's two cats and Mr. Wonderful's brother and sister-in-law and their two teenagers and three dogs and rabbit. And also factor in that about half of this cast of characters (humans only and including your boyfriend) is sick with some sort of hacking, wheezing ailment, and then you might begin to get what I'm talking about.

3) Pile on top of this that you found out, somewhat causally, that your stepsister has alerted your mother to the fact that you have blog--a fact that you've held near and dear to your heart, as a means of no-holds-barred self expression for YEARS now, and that--now that they know about it and are surely reading it--you're going to have to either quit blogging completely or migrate elsewhere so that you can have anonymity you crave.

Fuck, Internets.

If I do this, I will be the 3rd of my blogger bitches who's had to do this recently because they've been "found out." This sucks. I mean, it really, really does.

Fuck. (Yeah Mom, I said "Fuck" again. It's one of my most favorite words. Keep reading. Please...)

Sigh.

This wasn't a very good weekend.

I've got three things to say, then I'm going to bed:

1) THIS is why it's called the Pine Curtain, people. So pretty, isn't it? This particular photo was taken on an unusually crisp morning right outside of Mr. Wonderful's dad's lakehouse. And here's another shot, just cuz I like you.

2) Want a hardcore lesson in sexual frustration? Go for a weekender with your long-distance boyfriend (who you only get to see every 6 to 8 weeks or so as it is) and your (very clingy) toddler and his two kids and his dad and his dad's two cats and Mr. Wonderful's brother and sister-in-law and their two teenagers and three dogs and rabbit. And also factor in that about half of this cast of characters (humans only and including your boyfriend) is sick with some sort of hacking, wheezing ailment, and then you might begin to get what I'm talking about.

3) Pile on top of this that you found out, somewhat causally, that your stepsister has alerted your mother to the fact that you have blog--a fact that you've held near and dear to your heart, as a means of no-holds-barred self expression for YEARS now, and that--now that they know about it and are surely reading it--you're going to have to either quit blogging completely or migrate elsewhere so that you can have anonymity you crave.

Fuck, Internets.

If I do this, I will be the 3rd of my blogger bitches who's had to do this recently because they've been "found out." This sucks. I mean, it really, really does.


Fuck. (Yeah Mom, I said "Fuck" again. It's one of my most favorite words. Keep reading. Please...)


Sigh.

This wasn't a very good weekend.