I used to read this blog, but she stopped writing letters.

I feel so naked. Vulnerable and scared. I’m like a virgin. I want it, but I don’t know how to go about it. I crave it, but it would cross a line. It would turn something into a different thing than it once was.

I wonder, will other people notice the difference in me? Is something new what I really want? Are they even ready, or thinking the same things?

Maybe none of it matters, because this moment is mine. And I want it.

I am, of course, speaking about the abandonment of my usual “letter” format.  Perverts. I use the words “naked” and “virgin” and “it”…and somehow everything becomes about sex.  Typical. But in a way, I suppose this is like sex. Only without the sweat, and the penis, and the orgasm…okay, I’m not sure about the orgasm yet. Give me some more time, I’m almost…there.

I don’t know why I just went that far,  but it does have that same sense of freedom.

(Cue Music)

EPIC

I love this blog. When I started it, I was highly inspired by my letters. I have lists everywhere of stuff I would like to write letters to. I still plan to use my letters, but I sometimes feel restricted by the format.

I’d like to be able to post so many other things. I write a lot of short stories, I like to just rant sometimes. Then I don’t post them because they don’t fit into the format.  If I hadn’t already named the blog, I’d probably call it “A.D.D. and Some Letters”

I considered deleting the whole blog and starting a new one, but I like my readers and I don’t want to have to find more people I like. For some of us (points at self) it’s not that easy to like people 😉

So here I am – tearing my safety net into tiny little pieces and making bad sexual references.  Fun,fun.

See. It IS sort of like being a virgin; even the fumbling feels pretty good.  Okay I quit, I’m Sorry.

**I am fighting an intense urge to sign my name here**

Dear Acupuncture,

I’ve always considered you to be just another weird thing that rich people do… but today I learned that you actually serve some purpose.

For instance, there is a sign I drive by every single day that says “Acupuncture and Grooming”. I’ve been making a mental note every day for the last 4 months or so to google that and find out what the hell it means. Call me crazy, but I feel like acupuncture and grooming should be separate businesses. You wouldn’t see ” nail salon and deli” , or  “Flowers and Proctology”.

Anyway – I finally googled today and your services are for dogs.

Are you kidding me? You can make a business out of that?

‘Murica is great.

It did, however, get me thinking and googling and I also came across another kind of acupuncture.

FERTILITY acupuncture.

…

..

.

So wait …

You’re telling me that in order to get pregnant… I have to get poked?!?!

In that case, I’ve totally been over thinking pregnancy. I can now navigate this world with a different sense of understanding.

Therefore acupuncture, I shall forever leave you to the rich people, weird pet parents, and other masochists.

Love,

Kelly

Dear Nails and Nostrils,

I’m not usually much of a fashion person or fancy gal, but I really do love my new gel manicures. I’d like to encourage all women to try you…just once…AFTER reading the warning below.

Gel manicures are just amazing polish that lasts for two weeks – even if  the person wearing said polish regularly soaks their hands in bleach because they are a strange, phobic person.

It has allowed my nails to be thick enough to grow out to epic lengths, and for that, I thank you.

BUT –

Like all pretty things, you have your dangerous side to.  Here are two ways:

1)  When I was in the shower washing my face this morning and I accidentally jammed my pointer finger unbelievably deep into my left nostril, my happiness with my ability to grow my nails out REALLY long faded as quickly as nose blood down a drain.

You suddenly didn’t look so pretty, you were more like a jagged dagger of nose death. I suppose it’s not all your fault because my finger was also covered with sandy, minty exfoliating scrub – it was kind of like getting a wound and rubbing salt in it at the same time, which is efficient, but still painful.

I swear, before my eyes stopped tearing up so I could open them, I thought my eyeball would be on the end of my finger like a scary lollipop. But I knew that couldn’t be because my finger didn’t make that echoed “fwomp” sound when I dislodged it from my brain stem and  pulled it out my nostril.

2) I love how sparkly you stay, but it is highly distracting when I am driving down the road and can’t stop staring at my pretty nails on the steering wheel. Sooo pretty. I’ve almost hit at least 8 parked cars since my last manicure.

Again, in your defense, my BAD-ASS wedding ring adds to the sparkle distraction.

My suggestion is to make people sign agreements when they get a Gel Manicure. The agreement should also have a warning and  make people promise they won’t sue if they accidentally turn their fingers into eyeball lollipops… or their insurance rates go up because they can’t snap themselves out of a sparkle trance.

Here’s a picture of my latest gel manicure (I removed my eyeball and spinal goo). YES, I know the color is all kinds of wrong for my pasty self, but after being in the military for 10 years and having to have man hands, I get really excited about being allowed to do obnoxious things. Plus my ring is just so AWESOME.

Doesn't it look like I have arthritis? lol. My ring is BANGIN' though!

Dear Readers,

I just read through some of my old posts because I am all excited at the prospect of having a chance to write in here again (you can sort of blame the bloggess who I obsessed over for about 3 hours today). ANYWAY – I realized that I haven’t told you anything!

SO…since last we talked, I married this guy ! GO me!

AND he is in the kitchen, in an apron, making me a gourmet Italian meal right now. NOT exaggerating 🙂

I told you so.

So that means I am a mother of 3 now! FUN! (Good lord, do I ever have a million things to tell you about this)

I also quit my job. Thank God.

I’m  going to school now, plus doing portraits and other freelance photography and working on a book. *sigh… all 11 pages of it. A.D.D is such a nightmare.

BUT I got this really cool voice notes thing, and now instead of having journals and blogs and little bits of paper with writing strewn about everywhere, I have voice notes.

The down side is that I have to listen to my own voice…don’t you hate that? ugh

“Is that really what I sound like?”

oh – and I’m happy 🙂

Hmmmm. I’m probably boring you by now. I just didn’t feel like I could move forward here without updating on the past…otherwise a lot of crap wouldn’t make sense.

Like…the woman that tried to make me “un-fat” her at a photo shoot. WHAT?!?! More on that later.

okay – too much wine since the last post. I’m outtie before I start to look even more dumber-er-er-er.

Kelly

Dear Fellow AACC Students,

No, I am not a teacher at Anne Arundel Community College. Yes, I realize I am WAY older than you…but I am here to learn. Also, 29 is NOT old! Please stop asking me where your classroom is because I am just as lost, probably even more so than you. No, I cannot help you with your homework unless you need a paper proofread. This particularly applies to math. The best I can do with math is calculate a tip using the app on my phone.

While I am at it, you seriously amaze me. I love how you “youngens” embrace life and express yourself. You’re still so optimistic, it is fabulous to see. On another note, it is completely inappropriate to take your shoes off in class or to ask a professor to call you a ridiculous nickname.

Anyway folks, happy learning.

Kelly

P.S. I started a new blog for one of my classes called News and Bologna. Feel free to take a gander 🙂

Dear Birth Control Pamphlet Writers,

I’m in a very helpful mood. It should last approximately 45 seconds. SO, in those 45 seconds, I thought I would write some suggestions to put in your pamphlet.

Side Effects may include, but are not limited to the following:

• Rage
• Fatigue
• Hair loss
• Application of too much tanning oil
• Feeling misunderstood
• Feeling like a failure
• Feeling guilty because you are a misunderstood failure
• Feelings of stupidity for whining about how you feel
• Drafting awkwardly personal blogs
• Needy-ness
• Excessive crying…during animated features, especially Sponge Bob Square Pants
• Hopelessness
• Yelling at children for doing child-like things
• General annoyance at all living things
• Hiding under bed covers
• Crying at your own naked reflection
• Binge eating burritos after a trip to the gym
• Kicking your dishwasher
• Inability to go to work
• Crying about laundry
• Throwing aforementioned laundry at walls while crying about it
• Procrastinating about yard work to include; poop scooping and mowing
• Feeling overwhelmed
• Panick attacks triggered by general untidiness of the house
• Depression
• Tequila and 1,000 cigarettes
• Overwhelming urge to change hairstyles
• Hopelessness about your appearance
• Begging God for mercy and peace
• Urges to throw birth control in the garbage and stab the bastards who made it

Please consult your doctor immediately if you fantasize about any of the following:

• De-barking all dogs in a 20 mile radius
• Breaking glass objects until the need to see things shatter disappears
• Stabbing people
• Having a “no baby talk” law passed in the state of Maryland
• Lighting your own house on fire once loved ones are safely outside just so you don’t have to clean it
• Punching ex-husband in the face so you can watch him bleed
• Throwing a temper tantrum in hopes of getting it all out
• Running away to a cabin in the mountains to be alone forever

DO NOT take this product if:

• You are already a crazy person
• You like babies anyway

*Side effects vary from person to person. They may be a compound product of general life stress and birth control hormones. Either way this product will make you a wreck. We wouldn’t recommend it if we didn’t make so much money. 

You’re welcome,

Kelly

Dear Boredom,

You made me write a whole blog on poop earlier today. How dare you. Now everyone knows I’m ridiculous. I did read an article on boredom a few years back that I really liked, but I do not think it applies to poop. Here is is:

The Joy of Boredom by Carolyn Johnson, the Boston Globe.
Boredom’s doldrums were unavoidable, yet primordial soup for some of life’s most quintessentially human moments… A long drive home after a frustrating day could force ruminations. A pang of homesickness at the start of a plane ride might put a journey in perspective. We are most human when we feel dull. Lulling around in a state of restlessness is on of life’s greatest luxuries – one not available to creatures that spend all their time pursuing mere survival.  To be bored is to stop reacting to the external world, and to explore the internal one. It is in these times of reflection tat people often discover something new, whether it is an epiphany about a relationship or a new theory about the way the universe works. Granted, many people emerge from boredom feeling that they have accomplished nothing. But is accomplishment really the point of life? There is a strong argument that boredom, so often parodied as a glassy-eyed drooling state of nothingness, is an essential human emotion that underlies art, literature, philosophy, science, and even love.

Anyway, stop making me look stupid.

Kelly

Dear Poo Sample People,

First off, I chose not to divulge how we met.  However, I would like to know how it is that you became a poo sample person? It’s a very strange profession to be a poo person. You take it so seriously too. You give out little chopsticks and baggies. You give instructions on the best methodology for poo sampling. Example:  poop on paper plate, then take your sample from there. The thought of this has completely ruined swedish meatballs for me. They now look like poo on a plate and I can’t eat them. I blame you for that, poo sample person. I used to love swedish meatballs.

Also, where is it that one should store a sample while they wait  to produce the next sample? I cannot, for the life of me, think of a good place to store poo.  I am very glad that in my experience, the poo sample storage location was kept secret.

I think you are happy people. Do you say “thank you” when someone hands you a bag of poo? Do you tell new acquaintances you are a poo sample person? Is there a poo sample certificate you can get in community college? Is it brown?

I’m sorry, I’m just curious.

Kelly

P.S.  Poo is such a funny word. So is fart.  I’m so mature it hurts.

Dear Blogofmine,

Hi there, I thought I would drop a line since it has been so long. You know how it is, life gets so crazy. I promise to be better about keeping in touch. I think about you all the time. I jot down things I’d like to tell you. So much has changed, you wouldn’t even believe. I’m still me. I have my moments, only now I love that about myself. I gained a lot of clarity, my house grew from two people to six people, and I lost an organ. I imagine the first parts of this letter will be a little depressing, but keep reading, it gets better…I think.

Back in February, I had a major melt down that completely changed my life. It is a very long story I’ve typed up in many different ways to put on here, but decided against. It simply did not match the tone of this particular blog. Also, it’s a little depressing. To make a very long story short-ish: I was under a deadline at work; I missed the deadline; a co- worker pushed my buttons; I had a series of panic attacks and followed them up with a few pain-killers and some wine. I know. It’s not smart. If I could go back in time and smack myself, I would. The problem may have been that there was no one there to smack me. ANYWAY – the dumbest moment of my life led to a lot of clarity. I began doing cognitive behavioral therapy for anxiety; I switched jobs; my mom is staying with me for a bit; I fell in love. I suddenly see value in myself, in my life, and am living in reality again vice the selfish world of self loathing I’d chosen to call home. If you’re worried about daughterofmine, don’t. She was completely unaware and taken care of. The thought of her beautiful, innocent face and the joy she brings me makes me feel even more stupid for that moment. I only felt alone but was not.  A lot of people loved me enough to be there immediately. The moments I thought held only darkness and hopelessness gave birth to faith, peace, love, and more hope than I’ve ever experienced. I can say now, I am truly happy.

So, about that “fell in love” stuff: I’m not kidding. You know him too. It’s this guy. No, he’s not def. No, I have not scared him off or eaten his head like a praying mantis…yet. Yes, I think he will stick around for a bit. Yes, he’s even read this. No, I have no idea what he sees in me and feel luckier every day. It’s all so crazy. I didn’t even believe in love. I didn’t believe in happiness. The thing is, he truly understands me and I understand him. He can even embrace my darkness. The parts I hide. We are two peas in a pod and all the other gooshy vegetable metaphors for love you can think of. Sometimes he says “Hi, pot” and I reply “hellloooo, kettle”. Isn’t that gross? It’s sickening really. We are kissy and smushy. We eat a lot of sushi and call each other babe. We hold hands and kiss in public. We laugh in bed at night. We try to hide our farts from each other. He makes me float. I’m officially a corny romantic comedy. Rainbows, butterflies, glitter, laughter, and puppies. No Joke.

The best part is that he comes with two spicy little gingers that nabbed my heart from day one. The oldest (10) is so sweet, smart, and matter-of-fact. I’m naming her oldestofmine. The youngest (7) is …hungry. All the time. She is also a silly, creative little spitfire. I’m naming her eaterofmine. In addition, Daughterofmine is happier than I have ever seen her. I totally have an insta-family. It’s awesome. Especially for someone like me, who had accepted the fact that I would die alone, and had given up dreams of the big family I always hoped for. I think it was piehole or working tech mom that told me not to lose hope. Thank you. I think my hopelessness for myself DID die that day. You know, my grandma used to say that God gives you more than you could ever imagine. Pretty much…because my house is jam packed with my little ponies and man clothes. They are all up in my space and stuff. God, I love it.

Speaking of daughterofmine, she turned 6, lost her first two teeth, and graduated kindergarten since we last talked. She is all the wonderful things she ever was, except now she doesn’t beg me for a daddy and some brothers and sisters. I don’t have to explain to her anymore that I am not capable of these things. She’s so big. I cherish every second with her, as I always have. I almost let go of that. In reality, she was what made my attempt a half-hearted one. When you have babies, you have hope; even when you think it is gone.

In other news, my stupid appendix revolted against me in May. Not nice. Fuck that thing anyway. Who needs it? Especially considering that the pathology reports concluded that there was a carcinogenic tumor on the appendix. Sneaky little bastard. That’s the same thing that killed Audrey Hepburn! If I hadn’t had appendicitis, I wouldn’t have known about the cancer. I’m just sayin’ it came at a time when I was suddenly aware of God’s hand in my life. He likes to show himself in some pretty crazy ways. The thing is, I’m not even this perfect person. I say Fuck sometimes. I smoke cigarettes (er..used to…er.. trying not to for obvious reasons). I’m having a ton of premarital sex right now. But I guess that has nothing to do with anything. It’s your heart that matters. Don’t forget that. Just try and do your best to pay it forward I guess. Acknowledge the blessings. Try to be happy. I don’t know any other way to show how thankful I am to Him.

Anyway – that’s where I am now, blogofmine. Happy and fulfilled; A million lifetimes away from where I was;  Appreciative of all that I have been given; Happy with myself; Loving the people around me; Learning ways to deal with my OCD; Learning ways to let people in.

HOWS THAT FOR SMUSHY?!?! Just don’t expect all letters to end on this happy note. For realsies though, let’s try to stay in touch better. We should do coffee, (without rice) and catch up. My treat.

Love,

Kelly

Dear Teacher’s Aide for Daughterofmine,

Yes, I am avoiding you. I KNOW that I owe you $12 for the school picture you gave me when you assumed I would be a responsible adult and pay you back. I realize it has been almost two months and I have told you repeatedly that “oops, I don’t have cash, I’ll bring it in the morning! I’m so sorry!”.

The truth is I NEVER have cash. I also NEVER remember that I owe you money until I am walking daughterofmine to class. I’ve also told you I would bring a check, which you were so gracious to accept…but I can’t find my checkbook. I sort of blame you for expecting these archaic methods of payment. Doesn’t your coin purse take cards? You shouldn’t assume I will have time to stop somewhere and get cash….Okay fine, it’s not your fault.

Either way, this has sort of turned into a fun game for me. I walk in, realize I have forgotten the 12 bucks AGAIN, then start peeping around corners and trying to look too busy to stop and chat. “HI THERE, Can’t talk! I’m in a terrible hurry!”. It’s sort of a rush, ya know. I’m suddenly this sly villain in skin-tight leather pants, fleeing from authorities and shouting “DAMN THE MAN!”.

Anyway, sorry for that, you are a super nice lady. I will bring your money tommorrow…again…errr…if I can remember.

Thanks, and sorry, or whatever would be appropriate to say here,
Kelly