Ahhhh Skeet, Skeet.

Ladies and gents, I want to formally introduce you to Skeeter. He is a five and a half year old orange tabby with a HUGE personality. When I say he is a character, I mean it. I objected at first, but he begged me to allow him the opportunity to create his own blog (I am a real softy when it comes to him)! So, without further ado I give you, SKEETER!!

As you can see, I can be a little shy from time to time, but I am so excited to write my first blog. It won’t be too long, because not having thumbs makes it pretty difficult to type. Mom says I have a pretty big personality, but it’s really because she doesn’t pay enough attention to me. I don’t think she realizes how important I am. I try to get her attention by weaving between her legs and constantly meowing, but it seems to piss her off when I do that. I don’t get it; it’s called love, MOM!!

I am a pretty curious guy; I like to know what’s going on around me.

This jack hole had his light blaring in our window when I was trying to sleep. What the heck is that about jerk! I stuck my head out and gave him quite the look. He quickly turned off his lights. I am the man of the house; I have to take care of all its occupants.

I can also be pretty goofy.

I found this ribbon in our apartment. I was having blast playing with it until I tangled myself up and couldn’t move. Mom was a real jerk that day. When she found me she just took pictures and laughed. I could have died! I could have strangled myself or something, I mean I didn’t, but I could have dang it. And all she did was laugh and take pictures. Real sweet lady!

There was this one day that mom and I were pretending we were on a roller coaster.

OK, she told me to say that. We weren’t on a roller coaster dang it. She was forcing me to take pictures and I objected. I have tried to let her know I don’t like these photo shoots, but she doesn’t get it. When I try and bite her to let her know I don’t want my picture taken I get popped in the head. You heard that right, I GET POPPED IN THE HEAD. How does that work? You are forcing me against my will to do something. I am just protecting myself. Pick on someone your own size!!

I would consider myself a real gentleman most days.

Mom passed out giving blood on this day. I crawled right into that nook and just stayed with her until she felt better. I will admit it’s nice to have her home during the day (but don’t tell her I said that). When mom isn’t feeling well, I am right there to make it all go away!

Even with all this fur, I tend to get a little chilly in the apartment.

I like to cuddle up in the blankets in the fall and winter. There’s nothing like a warm blanket and a nap on a cold winter day!

Well I guess that’s it for now. My life if pretty exciting, and I am sure there will be more to come soon! I am going to North Carolina to see my girlfriend Hermione over Christmas. She is one hot babe and our secret romance was almost exposed the last time we were together. I love when mom comes home from a visit to North Carolina. I can smell Hermione’s sweet pheromones all over her suitcase…..love, sweet love!!

Well there you have it folks, that’s Skeeter. One crazy guy!!

When I was young…

Most of you might be able to tell at this point, that I like to tell stories and I might exaggerate SLIGHTLY on some details. OK, OK, I exaggerate a lot, but that is what good story telling is!

Well my story telling and exaggerating days began when I was very young! At one point, I stole my Mom’s high school class ring, lost it, and convinced my sister that she somehow was to blame. Unfortunately for me, when she went to confess, my mom revealed that she already knew it was me that lost the ring, so I was caught red handed in my story! There is one story that I created that I am going to tell you all now. I will note a few things before I get started 1) for all those who know me as Nicole, I also go by Nikki 2) the below story did not harm anyone, other than egos… and 3) five year old girls in pig tails are too cute to not believe!

In kindergarten, I had the mom that would come to everything! She dropped me off at the classroom door in the morning; she was waiting outside that door to pick me up in the afternoon. If there was a field trip or volunteers needed, she was the first to sign up. She was actively involved and I was the baby of the family, so it was her last chance to go through the steps (well, at least until grandchildren came around). The day this story began, my mom was out of down (I think some sort of retreat, but that’s pretty irrelevant). This meant that my sweet daddy would be in charge for the week.

Now, I am and have always been the stereotypical “daddy’s girl.” One bat of my eyes and he turns into butter right in front of me! I look, walk, talk, write, joke, everything like my papa bear! BUT, at five years old and prissy as they come, daddy was not the ideal candidate to get me ready in the morning. Perhaps this story was revenge for my mother leaving for the week and letting dad pick out my outfits and do my hair. Needless to say, I was the definition of a hot mess that week. My ponytail had bumps in it, my clothes didn’t match (newsflash daddy, neon orange and baby pink just don’t work together), and my lunch never had a note on the napkin with a heart saying I love you. It was just a disaster! He wouldn’t even walk me to class, just dropped me off and let the safety patrol escort me.

The week started on a good note. I had a good friend in the class and one day, in typical kindergarten fashion, he had an accident. Well, he didn’t have any spare clothes, so I gave him my pink pants with bows (I was a giving kid, what can I say). He really liked them, so I told him he could keep them. I told my teacher “the story” and all the wheels were set in motion!

Mom got back on Thursday night and took over her duties Friday morning, thank gosh!! As we went to school (pink dress, white tights, mary-janes, neatly pulled pack pig tails with pink and white ribbons), I felt whole again! I matched and look as cute as a button! As we pull into the parking lot, mom parks and walks me to my class room. As she peaks her head in the door all is revealed.

My teacher turns white as a ghost and runs over to the door to give my mom a hug. Naturally mom was a little taken back but hugged her anyway. My teacher (we’ll call her Mrs. H) says, “Oh Norma, I am so glad you guys are alright, we are going to help however we can!” At this point my mom is a little confused, “Mrs. H, what are you talking about, of course we are alright.”

Now I am getting nervous. When I told the story, I never realized that mom would find out! I try to give Mrs. H that “cut it out” look, but she didn’t pay much attention to me. Mom sees my friend that I gave my pink pants to (he is wearing them again) and she asks “Nikki, what is he doing with your pants?” Phew, she is changing the topic, all is good. “Oh I just let him have them, mom. He really likes them” I replied. I run to go play, grateful that the crisis was averted; I just figured they would go on and not continue to talk. I was wrong.

“Well, Norma, we are starting a clothes and food drive next week, it will be in the news letter going out Monday.” says Mrs. H. Again, my mom was always the one to help so she replies “Great, I would love to help just let me know what I can do, who is the drive for?” At this point, I think Mrs. H knows something is up “well, it’s for you and your family. Nikki told us all about it.” Crap!!!! I am done for! Mom looks over at me and I hear it “Nikki told you about what?” This isn’t good; I can feel both of them gazing at me. Mrs. H tells mom “she told us about the fire. She says your house burnt down.” Those of you that know me well, know, not only the next words that came out of my mother’s mouth, but also the tone in which they came out. “Niiiiicoooooolllee Luuuuuuuuuuzzzz White!” Uh oh…….

I come over, tail between my legs, and just look up. My mom then explains “Mrs. H, first, we live in an apartment, so our house did not burn down. Second, Terry (that’s my papa bear) caught the stove on fire but he put it out with no damage. I am not sure where she got all this from, but I can assure you, we and our apartment are fine.” Mrs. H just looks down at me, but what can she do “well don’t I feel stupid now, but no one dropped her off or picked her up in the morning and she was just a mess every day, so I just assumed something happened.” I am pretty worried at this point; I think a whipping is going to be in order for this one. To my surprise, they started laughing. Yeah, Laughing. Like I mentioned before, no one was hurt, and the “drive” didn’t start, so nothing really came of this, except this story. Well that and for the rest of the year Mrs. H didn’t believe a word I said. So much for trying to convince her mom was pregnant so I could get an elephant sticker…DANG!!

I am SO Proud… No, listen to me! Listen to me! I am SO PROUD……

I am going to take it back again to the weekend Andrew met my parents for the first time.

I currently reside in the State of Iowa to work for that big old green and yellow tractor company. Andrew was born and raised in the great corn state and attended Iowa State University. For all of you that have never met anyone that attended Iowa State, let me give you a peek into their lives, they are all OBSESSED with Iowa State Athletics. I am not sure if my judgment is skewed by the company that my wonderful boyfriend keeps, but I am no longer shocked by their extreme loyalty and fan hood.

Anyhow, the weekend we scheduled to visit the wonderful North Carolina was strategically planned around Iowa State football. The Cyclones (ISU) were playing the Nebraska Cornhuskers at Nebraska. This is a pretty big game apparently in the “former” big 12, so fortunately for Andrew, it was televised in NC. To give you a little history about this rivalry, ISU has not beaten Nebraska at Nebraska in like 30 something years (Andrew is probably cringing right now that I don’t know the exact date and time of the last time this occurred, but let’s be honest, you get the point…. It’s been a while).

So we didn’t realize the game was televised in NC until the 4th quarter, and once we turned the game on, there was no turning back. (Correction: I didn’t realize the game was on, apparently Andrew knew the whole time, but wanted to be polite and not unleash the football freak too early in his relationship with my parents). I would like to add that at this moment, my parents have known Andrew for about one hour! The game is a real nail biter. It’s late in the 4th quarter, less than 3 minutes left in the game. Zac Lee (quarterback for Nebraska) goes for the pass, INTERCEPTION!!! Holy crap! “ Did Iowa State just do something good?” That was my initial reaction.

Now there is less than 2 minutes left in the game of a lifetime. One minute, 30 seconds, 10, 9, 8, ok you get it. Iowa State WINS! I am immediately shocked by this and don’t know what to think. I look over at Andrew to see how I should react and I see a ghost. I don’t think he has realized what just happened. Then I see what looks like a single tear followed by an uproar of “Oh my God!” and jumping around like a 5 year old school girl. My one year old nephew looks at him and back at me, him, then me, one more time, him then me. “Yes, little man, this is what you have to look forward to one day!” I tell him. My niece, who is almost four, thinks Andrew is dancing and joins the celebration that doesn’t seem to stop. My mom looks at me, and asks “Is he always like this?” I simply respond with one word, “yep!”

About 5 minutes later, the squealing stops and the phone calls begin. Andrew was completely unavailable for the next 45 minutes as he had to talk to everyone he knew about the victory that just took place. It was essentially the exact same conversation with every person and each time the excitement somehow continued to increase. Eventually, he calmed down and we were able to enjoy the weekend with an Iowa State Victory on our side.

This event, however, is not what the story is about. It is what happened later, in the Iowa State locker room that now haunts my everyday life. In case some of you have not heard of the famous speech given by coach Paul Rhoads himself, I have attached the link to share.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAcKiMy0Gp4&feature=related

To give you a summary, Rhoads is proud, and he expresses this thoroughly! Yes, this was enough to make ESPN Sports Center.

Ever since that mild October day in North Carolina, I can no longer say the word proud. Even if I catch myself saying it, if the first hint of the word “prou” comes out of my mouth the avalanche starts. “I am so proud, no, I am so proud, listen to me, listen to me, I am so proud to be your football coach!” Says Andrew “proudly.” Every freaking time! Every time! As if that isn’t enough, if I happen to say the word in his apartment, not only to I get to hear him recite the speech, but it gets pulled up on youtube so I can hear the actual Paul Rhoads say it!

I want to end this by thanking Paul Rhoades for creating a monster that I am “proud” to date.

On the prowl….

In Iowa it gets cold. REALLY cold! Wait, really FREAKING cold!! I am from North Carolina and cold to me used to be 27 degree Fahrenheit, well friends, cold to me is now -15 degrees Fahrenheit. You read that right!! Don’t fool yourself, its freezing!

When winter hits in Iowa (usually around mid October), everything goes into hibernation. The sun doesn’t come up until 8:30 or 9 in the morning and it starts to go down at 4 in the afternoon. Fortunately for me, I am working during that time, so I don’t get to see the sun until March (Jealous? You should be, I am so lucky! Hope you are starting to pick up on the sarcasm here)! The birds leave, the bugs leave, the bunnies stick around, which is a nice sighting every so often, but you get the point, EVERYTHING leaves. Except Spartacus…..

I call the creature you are about to hear about Spartacus because he is a true warrior, a fierce competitor and came to an unfortunate, yet deserving demise. You might be asking yourself “what creature could she be referring too? A lion, a tiger, a bear??” NO! This creature has no fur; he is nimble, quick, and as spirited as they come. He is determined to outlast the brutal Iowan winter in my apartment. He is but a small cricket, also referred to as the nightmare off 2009.

It was snowy night in December and I am cuddled up in a blanket with my beloved feline, Skeeter. We are warm and toasty, fresh cup of hot chocolate in hand. There is something very peaceful about the snow in Iowa, so pure and quiet; you could hear a pin drop if you tried. But that’s not what I heard that night. It was an unmistakable sound. One that usually only comes at night in the summer. I strained my ear to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. There it was again. Crick Crick. Crick Crick. Crick Crick. That is my best attempt at the incredible annoying sound of a cricket.

I stand up and move around the apartment to try and identify the source of the sound. It’s as if the cricket is playing a game with me. I get close and he stops. Then moments later, he is across the apartment. I chase after him. Once I have lapped the apartment 4 times, I decide to rest and hope that he is only a visitor for the evening and will soon leave.

I was wrong. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t leave. I have no idea how he has survived so long, but it has been three weeks and Spartacus is still here! I am losing sleep and patience! One night I reach a breaking point. It’s close to 1:30 am, still wide awake from his cricking, Skeeter and I decide to declare war. I will not sleep until he has been defeated!

We start in the bedroom. Skeeter is there beside me, alert and ready to pounce on command. “All clear, Skeet. Let’s move to the living room” I command him as seems to nod in agreement. Once we have left the bedroom, I seal it off in hopes no one will enter.

The above process continues throughout the apartment until finally, we have him cornered in the bathroom. I lock the three of us in there; Myself, Skeeter, and Spartacus, an unforeseen trio. “You’re going down, you monster!” I yell in a Braveheart type battle cry.

Spartacus remains silent thinking that he will fool us. He doesn’t. We sit and we wait. Then it comes, “crick, crick!” It’s a challenge. Skeeter perks up and I let him take the lead. He looks behind the toilet. No luck. The bathtub. No luck. Then, he gets a scent. I see him crouch into position like Mufasa, the lion king, eyeing his prey. There’s a shuffle and I see Spartacus for the first time, no bigger than a Tylenol gel cap, he jumps into the air, and Skeeter swats him down. Then, as if he was begging for mercy, one final “crick” and he is gone. I pick him up and give him a royal burial at sea. “Goodbye, Spartacus. You put up a good fight, but you didn’t have a chance! Good boy, Skeeter” I say as I pick up the victor and give him a good pat on the head.

I lay back down, Skeeter gets in the perfect nook he forms in my arms, and we have our first peaceful night sleep in what feels like an eternity.

The Countdown.....

It all started the morning of June 30th, 2010. I get to work, excited that there are only three more days until the extended 4th of July weekend my gracious employer gives us, and my first thought is “I need to go shopping to get Andrew and I matching outfits for the cookout on Sunday!” Immediately after that, I thought “Good God, when did I become my mother?” It’s a scary thing to wake up one morning and realize that you are three steps away from making matching iron-on sweatshirts with glitter to make them “fancy.” Once I was able to come back to reality after that astonishing epiphany, I did the normal morning routine, checked email and looked at the calendar. NICE! I get to give blood today!

Apparently, I have a pretty rare blood type (and therefore get calls once a week from the blood drive place asking to donate). Anyway, we have blood drives here at work, and it’s just an easy convenient way to help out society. So I am about to head down to donate and Andrew (the boyfriend) Instant Messages me (yes, we have IM at work). The message reads “65 days.” I didn’t have time to ask “65 days until what?” So I went down stairs to give blood.

The first part of my donation was standard, answer questions, get my blood bag, and wait until they are ready to stick me. As I am waiting my mind begins to ponder, “65 days, 65 days, 65 days?” Hmmm, what could be in 65 days? I don’t have a calendar readily available, but maybe it is an anniversary of some sort, maybe he is going to surprise me with something special??

Now, it’s time for the stick. The sweet old lady asks me which arm I would like to give from “the Right and I will warn you, I am a fast bleeder! I have been known to fill the bag in lighting time!” I joke with her, but that is a fact! On a normal basis I can fill the bag in less than 5 minutes. I prepare for the stick and there it is. Ahhhh, that’s over. I look at the sweet old lady and she has a very concerned look on her face. I quickly check to make sure my arm is still attached. Phew, it is. The sweet old lady calls another nurse over “will you take a look at this, I think it happened again” she says. “What happened again?” I reply looking confused. The other nurse comes and examines “Yep, you clotted to fast.” Excuse me? You literally stuck me 30 seconds ago. I clotted too fast.

So the old lady (note I dropped sweet) begins to move the needle around “does that hurt at all?” She asks. “Nope, I am good” but really I am thinking “Cripes lady you are prodding a sharp object around in my arm, what do you think?” So they decide to take the needle out and start again on the other arm. Luckily the clotting drama allowed me to forget about the 65 days comment.

As she sticks the other needle, it’s a success, kind of. It takes me 30 minutes to fill the bag! Ridiculous. As I wait to fill the blood bag, I find out the old lady had this happen 5 times today. Clearly, she needs to be removed from the needle prick and stick to asking the questions!

At this point, it’s been almost an hour and half since the elusive “65 days” comment. I mean who does that? Why would you just dangle a carrot like that and not follow through? Ugh. I am finally done with the blood drive and head back upstairs to share my story with all who will listen, including Andrew. I was so intense in my storytelling about my blood giving adventure, that it wasn’t until 45 minutes later that I ask with intense excitement “so what is in 65 days?”

I want to take a moment for everyone to guess what it could be. It would just be too easy to tell you flat out and not allow you to experience the intense anxiety that I had as I prepared for his reply.

I see the words “Andrew is typing….” on the instant message dialog box. My eyes light up and my muscles tense. Then I get the answer “65 days until college football starts.” WOW! That’s what my anticipation was for, college football? “That’s literally over 2 months away!” I reply. “I know, I am getting so excited already, I can’t wait, it’s so close!” he says with excitement coming out of every part of him. As a side note, I can’t remember the last time I was excited for something 2 months prior to it happening.

Since that moment, I have gotten weekly, and now daily updates on the countdown to college football. Now, I like football just as much as the other above average females in the world, but dating a diagnosed sports addict has truly increased my awareness on the craziness that is college football.

For all of those interested, 17 days……

Grocery Store Madness!

When thinking about grocery stores, I become EXTREMELY bi-polar. It’s a true love/hate relationship. Let me invite you into my world of shopping for food.

Example 1 – Love, pure love!

There is nothing like walking into the friendly neighborhood grocery store (Hyvee for my fellow Iowans, pick at random for the non-Iowans) early on a Sunday morning and being one of maybe ten customers. Calm just comes over me as I grab my cart, the rolls perfectly over the freshly swept floors and through the fully stocked aisles. I place my oversized purse in the cart, pull out my perfectly organized list (produce, meat, dairy, aisle, and frozen), and begin my adventure.

I start in the aisles, as I don’t want the “cold” items to get too warm in the cart. I slowly browse through the selections, compare price and nutritional information, and make a choice that I am truly happy with. I usually take this time to think about how nice and quiet it is and how peaceful the feeling of carefree grocery shopping can be.

Once the aisles have all been browsed, I head to the dairy section. I compare the yogurt flavors and cross them off my list as I gentle place them in an orderly fashion in my cart, which once again rolls with no issue or hindrance. Next are the meat and freezer sections, which compare to the joys of aisle and diary.

Now, on to the produce! Oh how I love freshly stocked produce, which has a light dampness due to the mist that has sprayed 2 minutes prior. I carefully examine each pepper, apple, head of lettuce, and tomato that I carefully place in the produce bag and sit atop of my neatly organized grocery cart.

I am done, now on the checkout. Seeing as to how there are ten shoppers in the store, I immediately find an open aisle with a sweet female check-out clerk who greets me with a smile and a “Did you find everything OK today?” I simply reply, “Why, yes I did, thank you very much Sandra (arbitrary name, but it sounds pleasant).” She swiftly scans every item making sure to take special care of my eggs and bread. A young eager boy walks up and asks if I would like paper or plastic. I answer “Plastic, please!” Once all the groceries are scanned and in my cart, eggs and bread on top, I swipe my card, take my receipt (given with a smile) and head out the door.

As I get home and open the door to my apartment (arms full of groceries that I can carry in one trip), I am greeted by my wonderful orange tabby cat, Skeeter, who is sitting quietly in the hallway waiting to be played with until my groceries are safely put away in their respective locations.

As I sit on my couch and reflect on what a wonderful experience I just had, I secretly think to myself, “I wish every experience in life could be as pleasant as my Sunday morning grocery store adventure!”

Example 2 – When did I walk into Hell?

Its 6:00 pm on a hot, muggy, humid, disgusting, Tuesday summer evening. I just had a long day of work and an intense workout in a gym with no air conditioning, that’s right, no AC. I have literally sweat more in 20 minutes than I have in my entire life, but at the time, it felt good, really good! I am on my way home trying to inventory my refrigerator a cupboards to come up with some unique concoction that only happens when I need to go to the grocery store, badly! CRAP! There is nothing!

I decide, against my better judgment, to head to the grocery store. I pull into the parking lot and realize that half of the world, yes, about 3 billion people, have decided to come to the grocery store this evening as well. After driving down each lane in the parking lot, almost getting hit by 3 carts, 2 old people , and one, what looked to be like a 12 year old, I came to the realization that the parking angels were not with me tonight, and settled on the “closest” spot possible (about half a mile away). As a side note, I believe that cell phones should be banned from the grocery store and parking lot between the hours of 5 and 7pm during the week.

As I walked to the grocery store, the sun is shining down and piercing me like razors. When I left the gym I thought there was no way I could possibly sweat any more. FALSE! I am once again drenched in my own nastiness. Perfect!
Finally, I am in! I feel the initial cool blast of AC and I think “this might not be so bad!” I grab my cart and start on my way. Cripes!! My cart has one wheel that doesn’t spin and one that is wildly out of control. As I start down the aisle, with no list, it sounds like a Boeing 747 is taking off. No!! It’s just Nicole and her obnoxious cart! I am in the rice aisle, trying to come up with some idea for dinner, and here comes the scooter. Not only does the lady driving the scooter look like she is capable of walking, just lazy, but she has 4 miscreant children that are running amuck and bumping into my cart. I give them a very distinct “don’t mess with me” look and they back off. Time for take off again! It takes all my strength to steer this darn cart and no matter how hard I try, every few minutes it veers right and almost knocks the pasta off the shelf!

OK, time to get serious! I decide on simple noodles and pasta sauce. I go to the canned vegetable aisle and, holy lord, I found all the people! I maneuver my way through the aisle with my bum cart and finally approach the tomato sauce. It’s at this moment that some fancy fashionista talking on her cell phone cuts me off with her basket and gives me this awful look. “I just got back from the gym lady!! Sorry I can’t be naturally beautiful like you,” I scream inside my head. I am about 95% sure she heard me and luckily for her, she went on her way. I try to compare my sauce choices to get the best buy, but I am getting glares for standing there too long, and make a rushed decision that I am sure to regret!
Why did I do this? Why did I HAVE to come to the grocery store? How did Subway seem like a worse idea than this? Anyway, I gather the rest of my ingredients in the same unsatisfying way and head to the check out with my rickety cart and groceries thrown around in no order at all!

There are four lanes open, four. Why do grocery stores have 20 available lanes, but only open 4? I will never understand this. I count my items quickly. 20! 20! And the express lane only takes 10. Why me? What did I do today to deserve this? I realize, however, that it doesn’t matter because those are two of the 16 lanes that are not open! I opt for what I think is the “shortest” line.

After 15 minutes of waiting it’s finally my turn! I get my groceries out and place them on the conveyor! I see a little light at the end of this long tunnel, and then it happens! The check-out clerks change shifts. I thought I was getting in line with a sweet lady who seemed pleasant. Now I have some snotty teenager who thinks he is the top dog! He scans my items while making random jokes with his bag boy buddy. I haven’t been acknowledged at this point, but I am fully engaged in their conversation and would like to meet this girl they are hoping to meet up with after work, she seems like a real character!

Once the bags are in my cart, I ask the bag boy “where’s my bread?” His reply is “in the cart.” Thank you, Captain Obvious! I decide to not press the issue and move on. As I reach the exit, I get my bags out of the cart (realizing that my bread is under the cans of tomato sauce and smashed, amazing you little punk), and offer the cart, with what little smile I can muster, to the person coming through the door. I have an evil laugh in my head and it makes me feel a little better knowing they will have to pilot that bad boy all around the store now!

Nothing exciting happens on the way to the car or apartment, I go in the heat, I sweat, and I swear, I put the groceries in the trunk, I drive home. When I get to the apartment, I can already hear it. The whining yelps from Skeeter. Whyyyyyyyy? Whyyyyyy? That’s what it sounds like. Whyyyyyy have you been gone so long? Whyyyyyy do you make me stay here alone? “For crying out loud cat, someone has to work” I yell as I wrestle for my keys in my purse, which have somehow made their way to the bottom in 30 seconds. I open the door and I am attacked by 12 pounds of fur. I try to avoid stepping on the annoyance that is weaving in and out of my legs. I get a piece of his tail and this ungodly scream comes out. “Then move out of my way Skeeter, I am trying to walk here, GAH” I respond as neighbors pass and glare like I have just committed murder.

Ahhhhh, I am finally home and once the groceries are put up I sit on the couch and pray. That’s right; I pray that I will never again be stupid enough to go to the groceries store on a Tuesday evening again!

And so it begins.....

Welcome to my life! And welcome to the confusion! I decided to start a blog, well, mostly because everyone is doing it, and I have always been one to succumb to peer pressure. I have been thinking about this for some time, but have never followed through because I could never come up with a “theme.” If you have noticed the title of my blog, Confused, that’s where I ended up. Interesting, isn’t it? Basically, I am going to keep my audience guessing and in the dark. Can’t wait!!

Confusion is an interesting place to be and I find myself there often. Since I can remember, I have always asked questions for clarity and even then, I don’t always get it. So, I just do the polite smile and nod like “ahhhhh YES, now I understand!” NOT! Most of the time I just don’t want to feel like a moron for being the only one in the group who is wondering what the heck is going on.

Most people think I am kind of funny, but honestly, I think that comes from the confusion! When you don’t know what to say, sometimes words just fly out of your mouth and form sentences before you even know you are talking. That happens a lot to me, and luckily, it’s usually pretty entertaining. The great part is, that I can entertain myself with only the thoughts in my head! Sounds a little goofy I know, but everyone does it. Walking through the grocery store, driving down the street, sitting at work, taking a shower, making dinner, the list really just goes on and on.

My plan for this blog is to share my thoughts with all of you! I am not really sure where this thing will end up, but hopefully there are some laughs, tears, times for deep thought, and overall happiness!

Let the blogging begin!