I say this as I'm laying propped up against a pile of fluffy off-white pillows (because we don't do laundry nearly enough), dressed in frumpcore denim colored tights (which surprisingly, my husband has complimented like 3 times today) and a thin baby food covered Pink Floyd shirt. The little "Roku" symbol is dancing around on my TV, and I'm trying my hardest not to finish the 3 remaining episodes of New Girl on Netflix, because- once its over, its over. And I don't know about you, but I'll be devastated. Just like I am at the end of any season of anything that I finish. But how exciting is it when you get a new email saying that there is a new season of whatever it is- its like your birthday, right? A good birthday! The kind where you get to sleep in and have breakfast in bed and nobody asks you if you feel a year older, because coincidentally, I don't think anybody actually feels older on their birthday. People should stop asking that question.
Right so anyways. I'm bloggin'. Heck yeah!
Did I mention I currently have mono? Oh yeah, I do, because apparently that's a real thing. I'm 29 years old, I don't recall kissing anyone (because its called the kissing disease, ya know?) other than my husband (who is an excellent kisser- virtual fist bump, b), but- one day (the day after a colonoscopy, no less- I seriously have the best luck) I woke up with giant golf ball sized lumps on my neck, a bloody nose (for the first time in my life ever), and a fairly constant feeling of having a heart attack. So for the past 5 weeks, I've been sweating non stop, falling asleep while standing up, crying at anyone that asks me how I'm doing, and forcing myself to power through every day and every night like a total comatose-zombie-robot-lady.
...you know what I just did just now? I originally typed "comatose-zombie-robot-mom", but after re-reading it, went back and changed mom to lady. Know why? 'Cause this isn't a mom blog. Because I'm not just a mom. I'm a lady. An awesome wordist lady. I have knuckle tattoos, I'm tough, WHAT (ok but I'm not really that tough- and the knuckle tattoos really hurt).
So here I am, chillin' on what I like to call "Mono Island". My husband has the next 6 day off from work, so I can finally get some rest. And by rest, I mean... so that my husband can play a lot of Yahtzee with me, while I don't watch New Girl, because I will have already finished it (and mourned its end). But that's okay. Because I've still got a whole season of Army Wives, at least 3 Halloween movies (The Witches, Practical Magic, and Hocus Pocus), and maybe every Zac Efron film ever made, with the exception of those singy dancy Disney ones. But maybe not. We'll see just how bored I get.
Ok, but the purpose of this blog is to separate myself from my motherness. Not always, but- I just really need a place to not be Tia the mom, but Tia, the Tia. So when I'm here, that's who I am. Tia the Tia. Um, and Tia the mom, because that's not really something that I can ever get away from, nor do I want to, but-
Ok I can't stand it anymore, I have to see what happens between Nick and Jess. And isn't CiCi supposed to get married? If you need me, I'll be wiping up my no-more-New-Girl tears with my dirty pillowcase (hey b, can we change the sheets this weekend? I'll add that to my list on avocado) on Mono Island, wishing I had Charlie St. Cloud and whatever it is that Zac Efron's new movie is called on DVD, as well as every season of True Blood, because I suddenly have a Xanax induced desire to say "Sukeh" over and over again. #ThatTotallyJustHappened