Ok, fine, so I wasn’t really back

Soooo remember when I said I was back to blogging like a million or so years ago and then I big fat went and didn't do it? Yeah, that's kind of me these days, so I decided I am just not going to promise anything and… YAHTZEE! Everyone's happy! My one reader ((hi, mom!)) won't be disappointed if I'm not around, and when I am, it'll be like Christmas! Except more like the Christmas when your parents thought it would be cool to roll it old-school and you got, like, a new set of fat pencils and an orange in your stocking. So if, when you think of Christmas, you are more inclined to dream of a Life$avers $weet $torybook, complete with a WHOLE ROLL of Butter Rum, and puffy unicorn stickers and ribboned barrettes, perhaps this is not the blog for you. It is probably more in the "hey, thanks for the orange and purple kitty-appliqué-d sweater" category.

I digress. I have no idea what I'll be writing about, since this isn't strictly a mommy-blog (thank GOD, because it was getting tough to put some kind of parental-y spin on my navel-gazing blathering). And neither is it NOT a mommy-blog, because, let's face it, the One True Child has become quite the charming human in the last year or so, and some of his shenanigans will no doubt provide luscious fodder. Like when he told me last weekend that no, I was not an "old lady." I am, apparently, a "medium lady." I can live with that.

I will probably complain just a little about work and the insane politics that make me want to take to the fetal position underneath my desk or, more often, to "accidentally" jam the copier when a Certain She is doing a hefty print job. It's amazing how one or two rotten co-workers can almost spoil the whole barrel of workingdom, especially when pretty much everyone else I work with are right up there with Dolphins, Puppies and Party Sprinkles. They are entirely too nice to me and think I, like, Know Things.

Also, I may ramble on about exercise. I have no idea why, but for the first time in my life, I have picked up a stress-coping mechanism that isn't completely unhealthy. I think I just got annoyed that "Eating Complete Crap" and "Watching 3 Hours of TV every Night" and "Refusing to Clean Your House for a Month" NEVER made the top ten of all those stupid "10 Ways to Relieve Stress" lists. Since the other suggestions—Deep Breathing, which is often interpreted as Annoyed Sighing, and Introspective Visualization, (which often involves fantasies about a Certain She, a stapler, and my bitchin' fast ball pitch) were just right out, exercise won, mostly due to the sheer process of elimination. So I may use this blog to opine about, for instance, a novice experience with Bikram ("Hot") Yoga, which is the process of Almost Doing a Very Non-Yoga Face Plant and then having one's will to live restored simply by emerging from a 105 F-degree room into an 80-degree lobby. It gives one perspective.

But for the most part, I hope I talk about the many, many things that fill me with Glee (in addition to the show itself):

• Watching Boyfriend play soccer with the OTC, even though he never lets the poor kid win. (Of course, dare I complain, he informs me that he's "teaching him to PLAY, not to WIN." Oy. Thanks, Curmudgeon McGrumpalus.) And yet the five-year-old? Almost always wins anyway.
  
• Getting to talk to my 91-year-old Nana once a week.
  
• The fact that my son, through no fault of my own, has become quite a sweet, sweet person.
  
• Having a boyfriend who not only takes good care of me but also loves my child as his own and finishes every bedtime discussion with said child by saying, "I love you. Listen to your mother."
  
• Seeing the mountains from my balcony.
  
• Having wonderful friends who put up with a lot of snarky commentary and make me laugh.
  
• Having an amazing family, who taught me well how to take care of people. And also maybe to be a little Type-A.
  
• Just sitting back and looking at pretty salads with pineapple and watermelon and blackberries.
  
• Knowing that my son's dad is a swell guy, since I have seen too many of my friends whose divorces have turned their former husbands into, well, sociopaths.
  
• Having a boss who is very sassy and funny and doesn't write me up for the rare, rare times I accidentally drop an F-bomb in a conversation. Also, the whole having-a-job thing, despite my occasional moaning about it.
  

I'm a lucky duck, no doubt.

So I'll see you when I see ya? Mom?