Pretend I Mailed This

Dear Friends, Family, and Interwebz,

Look what I made with my vagina!

I’m talking about the baby, not the shuke (shirt uke, obviously).  Though I guess technically my uterus made Paul.  My vagina wasn’t terribly involved in the process since he was delivered via c-section, but she did get the party started.  I guess we’ll just call it a tag-team effort.

I made the shuke, too – just not with my vagina.  She doesn’t paint.  Welding is her creative outlet of choice.  Do you know how hard it is to find a custom-fitted welding helmet for your kayak?

…and you thought I’d forgotten how to write about vaginas.

In a mere 12 months time, I finished the book, incubated an overlord, sold a condo, became a minister, bought a house, moved further into the wilds of Jersey, scored an agent for the book, hatched said overlord (with or without the help of my vagina), and (just under the wire) learned a small theater company in NYC is going to include one of my posts in the December 30th production of their Blogologues series .  Tomorrow I’ll be visiting my other favorite Paul (also known as Aloysius), who will hopefully tell me I can add “reached three years in remission” to that list.  Sadly, I also managed to accumulate almost 12 months worth of dirty laundry, dust bunnies, unanswered emails, unshaved legs, and unsent greeting cards.  Neil Patrick Harris and I are still not besties….yet.


It’s been a long, wonderful, terrifying, rewarding, and exhausting year – the best kind – and I wouldn’t have survived it without you.  I owe each and every one of a pitcher of margaritas.  Or seven.  And if it’s all the same to you, I think I could handle 2012 being just a smidge mellower.

Last New Year I resolved to be a possibility – something I try to remember every single day.  I kicked that resolution’s ass.  Imma do it again this year, too.  Just as soon as I start sleeping again.

Thanks for being a part of this crazy journey of life.  I’m amazed every day by your willingness to be a part of it.  May your holidays be rum-soaked and your 2012 possibility-filled.

It’s motherfucking-yule-time, bitches.  Happy Merry Everything.



26 comments to Pretend I Mailed This

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