Summer, where are you going?

Um, is it just me or is summer kind of just not wanting to stick around? One month from now James will be 6 and heading off to 1st grade. What the what? Then it’ll be Halloween, Thanksgiving…. and then… yes. It will be CHRISTMAS before we know it.

We are more than half way done with 2013. I’ll be 25 in September. And sure, I am still a baby according to some of you. But to me- I will be HALF WAY TO 50. QUARTER OF A CENTURY, Y’ALL. Seriously, what the hell? Do any of you feel like you’re just running out of time? I do. I’m a single mom, I work 40 hours a week, I am damn near stretched to the limit. I want to see stuff you guys. And not on the TV or the internet. I want to see the world with my own eyeballs. I’ll be 70 by the time it happens. I’ll be one of those old ladies in a hoveround checking out the grand canyon in a commercial.

Is there some kind of trick I don’t know about that slows time down? A home remedy? Should I light lemon scented candles and hold a séance?

I guess all I can do is just try to enjoy every moment of every day. But sometimes the moment has come and gone before I ever even knew it was here.

4 things.

1.)    I am ready for football to begin.  I know I say this every year, but I really feel like this season will be it.  The Vikings will shock and conquer and win the Super Bowl.  Look at the amazing off season we’ve had!  Filling in holes and beefing up the defense.  If our quarterback can really get his shit together, we will be BALLIN’!  I know, I know.  I am a little too positive for such a snake-bitten team.  One day, y’all.  One day.

2.)    I am going to really focus on learning a new language.  I’ve chosen Russian.  Now, before you start the Communist finger pointing, my grandparents spoke Russian.  So, I have a valid reason.  So far I have learned how to say… VODKA.  Took me a while, but I think I really am nailing it.

3.)    In almost a month, my son will be 6.  SIX.  I think we all know and understand that life is short.  Time seems to slip past you quicker and quicker as you get older.  But I am here to tell you that you do not truly know just how fast life is until you have a child.  The only word that comes to mind when I think about his birthday is bittersweet.  It is truly amazing to me that A.) I was able to keep both him and I alive for 6 whole years and B.) Within the past 6 years I have grown so much, almost as much as he has.  But- that is for another post I suppose.

4.)    Do not drink Bud Light Platinum.  It tastes like dog urine.  And before you come at me with the whole “You’ve tasted dog urine?” line, let me tell you that if I have tasted dog urine, it was last night and it came out of a blue Bud Light Platinum bottle.  This is why I drink Whiskey. 

Omphalophobia

Sometimes I think life would be less difficult to deal with if you could consciously pick out the things you’re going to be stressed out over. I lose precious sleep and even productive work hours worrying over ridiculous things.

I can deal with being stressed out over things like work and bills. That is just expected. It sucks, sure, but at least I know it is coming and that it will pass. On top of worrying about the expected, I worry about the silliest things and it stresses me out to no end. Like- OK. I worry about if the guy I am currently dating at the time is going to touch my bellybutton. Yes, my bellybutton. I would lose time getting to know this guy and letting him be affectionate with me because I am terrified he will stick his finger into… it. I am full of crazy and irrational fears, but I am pretty sure the sheer horror I feel when it comes to bellybuttons takes the cake.

I am not really sure how to describe it. Surely there must be someone out there with similar feelings?

It is almost like I can feel my insides when I put my own finger in there. One wrong move and it will rip open and all of my insides will come spilling out. It also makes me nauseous. I have literally gagged myself into a frenzy from seeing someone dig their finger into their own bellybutton. I can’t let people touch mine, I can’t touch others, I can’t watch people touch their own, and I can’t watch people touch other people’s bellybuttons. NOPE. Not happening. Not in front of me at least.

Terrible, isn’t it? Truthfully, it terrifies me to the core (to the core, people!) that whoever I am dating at the time will accidentally stick a digit in there and I will react with swift karate moves. Or maybe I will scream bloody murder? I don’t know what would happen, but I am certain he will run for the hills afterwards. Unfortunately there really isn’t a tactful and classy way to tell someone that you’ll throat slam them if they so much as think about touching the portal to your insides.

What is a girl to do!?

I’ve decided to write a short story about bellybuttons in hopes that channeling my fears into the written word will help alleviate some of this terror. It probably won’t, but I don’t think there are any truly good stories about bellybuttons out there, so A for being original!

My mom tells me she feels the same way about her pinky toe, but come on mom. Pinky toe? Really?

What do you normally write in the first post of a blog? Probably nothing important since no one will actually read it.

Unless of course I die a famous woman and people scour the internet to find every fact about the most interesting female to ever live.

In which case I will tell you that my favorite color is green, I am an avid reader, I know more about football than most men, and whiskey is delicious.

How do you normally end a first blog post? ….Um…. Well… Bye.