Back to Black

What's got two thumbs, an addiction to Golden Girls and the urge to blog? This girl right here! I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been a bit, shall we say, absent. But if you're wondering why, see my previous post, to wit: pimp, re: hard out there.

Since 2010 dawned (chill with that internal dialogue, I know it's mostly over), I've had a few changes in my life. Let's enumerate, shall we?

• Most obviously, sappy, inconvenient, messy love has found me, and his name - for social media purposes - is Leroy Brown. He is, in fact, the baddest man in the whole damned town... until he's drunk. Then, he's all soft and lovey dovey. Well, sometimes.
• A new two bedroom apartment, which is supposed to give us a little more room whilst living together on the daily and professing our love. What it's thus far succeeded in doing, however, is putting us both on the edge of hoarder status. You do not want to see that second bedroom; one hopes, with all the stuff, we could find a few winning lotto tickets and perhaps a stray migrant farm worker, but I'm willing to bet we won't.
• Dealing with an Alzheimer's diagnosis for my grandmother; there's nothing funny in the least about this, except maybe the fact that she'll eventually forget how much she hates short hair, so I can cut it again without her getting c-r-azy and shaking her grandmotherly fist in the air. She and Leroy are in cahoots, as he loves the long hair, too. I'm not sure why neither of them can see it looks like a dirty mop.
• Bigger boobs -- like, for reals. I have officially moved into astounded, especially given that I just thought I was gaining weight. But nooooo.... I go for a proper measurement, like any boobalicious gal should, and found the band size was exactly the same, but the cup size had inched up. While I'm certainly not one to generally lament what is fair and what isn't, I'm not even sure how that's possible. I'm nearly 33, for poop's sake -- why is that even cool? I'm already dealing handily enough with rotating the same six outfits, given my disdain for shopping and full realization that I am exactly like my cheap ass father (only 30 years younger and with more debt, so it really makes sense not to make more of it). So why would Jebus (his real name; the Old Testament surely got it wrong) continue to bless me in the boobage department? I secretly wonder if I'll have to pay to check this luggage on my next flight.

In a conversation last night, I told Leroy that it's not good enough to say you're going to do it -- you either do it or you don't. While we were discussing the gym, I need to begin reapplying the same logic to my life again. Somewhere along the line, I got a bit off track, so instead of yammering about how I'm about to get back into the swing, I'm just going to shut my f'ing mouth and do it. The world is watching -- at least, my world is.  I can't say what my future posts will be about - my 'single woman dating douchebag' stories are long since over - but I won't worry about that now. Without struggle there is no progress, right?

Commence struggling.