EndMoNoMo

NaNoWriMo is over. Congratulations to everyone that made it, or even attempted it really. 50k is no joke.

Movember has come to a close. Well done to everyone that raised money. Now please, for the love of all that is holy and cold and sparkles in the sun shave that damn pedostache off your face. Yes you.

NaBloPoMo is no more. Well, until next November. Congrats to everyone that made the past 30 days a little bit more interesting.

I didn’t know what to expect from this whole thing, but I knew that I do better when I’m not in it alone. So I dragged Chris in with me. I made a deal with her that if we both finished we’d treat ourselves to sushi. Guess who has a sushi date in her near future? I posted a lot of shit no one, myself included, really cares about. I wrote about a couple of things I didn’t think I would. I read a lot. I didn’t comment nearly as often as I should have. I still have things on my list that I didn’t even touch.

I still worry about the omg lady no one cares! of it all, but in the end I’m always happier when I’m writing. Even if it is just about my love affair with a steam mop and how my cat likes to hide my shoes. (Seriously dude, knock it the hell off.)

I won’t ever be an every day blogger, but I hope to be more than a every three months blogger.

I started off trying to find my voice (no not the tv show with Adam Levine, but if Adam and his inked abs wanted to show up to help? I would not turn him away. Because I’m a giver.) I don’t think I’m there yet, but I am slightly closer and that’s got to count for something, right?

I Am

I am from orange couches, from Glow Worms and Lite Brites.

I am from the ranch house with blue shutters, the big oak tree in the backyard and catching fireflies in the warm summer nights.

I am from the honeysuckle bushes and hummingbirds on trips to visit my grandma.

I am from a clan of nappers and tahdeeg stealers, from bedtime stories in English and Farsi, from Southern Baptists and Muslims (lapsed, the both of them.)

I am from people pleasers and stubborn blood.

From How Much Is That Doggie In the Window and Hush Little Baby Don’t Say a Word.

I am from finding your own way. Finding hope.

I’m from Buckyeyes, Hoosiers and Persians, from lemon bars and Shirin Polo.

From the first time I said fuck under the Magnolia tree, from road trips to Ohio, and the day our dog found us.

I am from photos in the cedar chest in sticky spiral bound albums. From early morning swim practices and late night swim meets. From learning that not everyone had a family member from Iran. From parents who loved me better than anyone else could have.

I am from doing things the hard way, but being all the better for it in the end.

This little meme went around awhile ago, and I am nothing if not a sheep. If you haven’t done it, come back and link me, would ya?

I’ve Probably Lost My Goddamn Mind

I haven’t worked out in..awhile. I used to work out a lot. Every day, even. And then I stopped. I was discouraged from not being where I wanted to be at the end of a year. I was tired from working out every damn day. I was bored because working out by yourself? Is really damn boring. So, I took a break. And excuse, excuse, excuse, sickness, excuse, MY CAT ATE MY GYM SHOES.

But now, here I am in the middle of holiday season, looking at old photos going, Hey, I have the same shirt as that fat chi- oh hell. It’s a funny thing, looking at photos of yourself and being surprised by what you see. Because, I mean, I live with it every day. I should know what I look like. But in my head I feel like this.

So, it comes as a surprise, still.

So, today I did pulled out my shoes and did this.

Now I can’t breathe and my heart is going, WHAT THE HELL WOMAN, ENOUGH! and if you’ll excuse me I need to go find my lungs and pretend that I didn’t just post a picture of myself in a bikini on the internet.

It won’t change fix things right away, but it’s a start.