In keeping with my intense desire for change (despite the mind-numbing fear currently accompanying it) I’ve been thinking a lot about going back to college.

I went to college for about a year after high school and loved it. I’m enough of a nerd that studying and papers and exams made my heart happy. I quit because my financial aid dried up and I couldn’t afford to go on my own.

I’ve filled out a request for my transcripts. I’m working on the FAFSA. For the first time in a long time I have that hum under my skin, that tingling that tells me I might be doing something right for a change.

Getting a degree, despite my aspirations to be a writer, seems smart. And solid.

Of course, going back to college is a terrifying notion. I’ve been out of school for TEN YEARS. What if I’m stupid now? A brain needs as much exercise as anything else, and mine is on the chubby, couch-potato side of things. Not only that, most of the people attending will be younger than I am. A lot longer. I’m almost thirty. And I’d be starting as a freshman again – I didn’t rack up enough credits to be a sophomore, and god knows how many of my credits will even transfer.

I want this, badly. I want to do this for myself. I’m not in love with my life the way  it is now (in fact, if I could break up with my life I would). A new path is the obvious choice.

I realize that not all endings are happy ones. Some endings just are. If I was in the mood for optimism I could offer up something trite, such as “all endings are also beginnings”, or “when one door closes another door opens.”

However, looking at what I just wrote is making me want to drown myself in a very shallow, very murky puddle (or possibly my coffee, as it’s directly in front of me and therefore convenient for that purpose) so I’m thinking optimism is going to have to wait for another day.

I do not enjoy change. Earlier today I tried enjoying it more by adding pizza, but it didn’t help things go down easier.

My life has been idling at neutral for about five years. YEARS. What the hell am I doing here? I do not want to be one of those old people who end up bitter and alone thinking of all the opportunities they missed. I want to look back at my life and feel contentment, to be able to laugh.

For that to happen, change must occur. YUCK. I get cranky just thinking about it – which is a direct side effect of my most prominent personality trait, fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of getting mugged and having to stand in line at the DMV for hours to get a new license. Basically I’m a gigantic chicken. If life were a hen house I would rule the roost, okay?

I don’t like knowing that about myself. Fear shouldn’t play a role in my decision making, and the fact that it sometimes does makes me angry with myself. Angry and ashamed.

I’ve come to some heavy, not altogether comfortable decisions in the past week.
1) Change is essential. If I stay the course my life won’t be anywhere near what I want it to be.
2) I need to grow a pair. Or at least borrow a pair.

Oh, look – it’s raining. There are puddles outside calling my name. It’s nice to know God does listen, and can be helpful.

This pity party was brought to you by Amber. She appreciates your time and wants you to know she was totally kidding about all the puddles. Thanks, and have a great night!

In the office earlier today:

Me: Turns on AC.
Boss: “Turn that thing off.”
Me: “It’s hot in here! Aren’t you hot?”
Boss: “I’m allergic to air conditioning.”
Me: …………
Boss: “I am.”
Me: “Uh-huh. Okay. You know it just circulates cold air, right?”
Boss: Gives me dirty look.
Me: “So you’re allergic to air? Because…that would be bad. Seeing as air? Is pretty much everywhere in the world, all the time.”
Boss: Leaves office.

Don’t worry, I won’t be getting fired. My boss loves me, despite my smart-assed nature. And my tendency to point out the obvious. Maybe I should have made him feel a bit better by suggesting dust or pollen as a reasonable alternative? Nah.

I went to the library today in search of more reading material (because really, there can never be enough) and found a book called I’m No Monster: The Horrifying True Story of Josef Fritzl, by Stefanie Marsh & Bojan Pancevski. Actually I found several, but when I slid that one across the counter the librarian looked up with alarm on her face and said, “I should warn you – only four people have checked out this book, and three brought it back without finishing it. Apparently the things he did are just awful, and very detailed.”

If you know me, you know I was indulging in a mental eye-roll. First: I have never NOT finished a book. Ever. I’m incapable. Second, she just gave a mild case of curiosity a big boost. I HAVE to know what’s in that book, and right away.

Other books I checked out:
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Pirsig
Shattered Silence – The Untold Story of a Serial Killer’s Daughter, by Melissa G. Moore & M. Bridget Cook
Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and it’s Aftermath, by Michael Norman & Elizabeth M. Norman

I might’ve been in a slightly morbid frame of mind while I was looking. What memorable books have you read lately?

- I recently watched Shutter Island, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, and am FLUMMOXED regarding the ending. Was he crazy? Personally, I believe he was sane – or as sane as he could be, given the circumstances – and the doctors and nurses on the island conspired to drive him crazy and make him doubt himself to cover up their EVILdoings. What did you think?

- Rowdy went home, and I’m a little bit sad about it – but happy to have my sister back (I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I saw her). Happier still about the pretty, bright blue t-shirt and baseball cap I got. I LOVE cheesy, touristy gifts. HEART.

- I’ve started going to the gym every day (instead of every other) to combat my emotionally-charged eating habits. I’m still trying to eat healthier, with sporadic success. It might be my imagination, but I think my belly is shrinking a tiny bit. So the extra gym time must be helping, at least a little.

- I’ve been considering going blonde for a while now. Not just highlights, but my whole head. BLONDE. I haven’t been totally blond since I was about three, but I want to go back. I’m bored with my look – my hair, my makeup. Everything is making me fall asleep. Something has to change. I don’t think a new shade of lipstick is gonna cut it, and I’m too much of a chickenshit to get a tattoo, so…hair it is. Of course, a decision like this can’t be taken lightly, so I’m asking you guys what you think:

Should I go blonde? And don’t think I haven’t considered the jokes about my hair finally matching my personality.

I bet some of you are wondering, “What’s a Rowdy Rat?”

That. That’s a Rowdy Rat. Actually, it’s an upside-down Rowdy Rat. He belongs to Heidi, who is currently vacationing in Lake Tahoe, leaving me with dog-sitting duties.

Not that I’m complaining. I like having Rowdy. He reminds Luna not to be such a major diva, like she ALWAYS is:

That’s Luna making herself at home on the dining room table. Luna dislikes Rowdy. She watches him disdainfully, then hisses in annoyance if he gets too close or too friendly.

It should be an interesting week.

As many of you know, I had emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder not long ago. Since that fateful weekend, I’ve been spending all of my fun money on paying the resulting hospital bills.

Today I got another bill, randomly, from the clinic – from my surgeon, to be more precise. Let’s see…the surgery was FIVE MONTHS ago and he’s just getting around to billing me!? THANKS.

I was saving, slowly (very slowly) for a much-needed pair of running shoes. The sole on my current pair is so thin I may as well go barefoot. (There’s something I never thought I’d say – I’ve worn out a pair of running shoes!)

I’ve also been squirreling money away for the second season of True Blood, because I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO LAFAYETTE. I refuse to ask my sister, who has SOME idea, because she reads the books. And I’m sorry, Sookie Stackhouse fans, but Charlaine Harris’s writing just doesn’t compel me. At all.

And then, yesterday, my DVD player broke. Croaked. Died. QUIT WORKING. So now, before I can find out what happened to Lafayette (my favorite character, btw) I have to buy a new player.

Any suggestions for money making/saving that don’t involve prostitution?

I’ll be at the lake for the next couple of days, spending quality time with my sister, her husband, and hopefully a pair of skis. Oh, and the Marine.

For those of you who don’t remember, a brief history: Smoking hot Marine recently out of service also happens to be good friends with my sister’s husband. We spent time together. We flirted. We went on one fabulous date. I was dying for him to kiss me, but NO. Which is fine, because I would’ve been breaking my first-date rule anyway. He was sweet, funny, HOT, and interested. And then he blew me off after I bought a new sweater for our second date (in retrospect, it was probably best, as that sweater wasn’t quite as flattering as I initially believed). Then he blew me off again. Then, there was a THIRD blowing off. So I said to my sister, “Screw the Marine.” Sadly, the statement was metaphorical.

And now he and his equally foxy brother are planning to go camping with us. With them, really, but I’ll be there too. So US. All of us, together. With fewer clothes on than usual.

WORSE, much worse, is that my body is not as bikini-ready as I’ve been hoping, largely (a key word, that) due to my consumption of, oh, every edible thing to cross my path. So maybe the Marine will think he isn’t missing much, which HE IS.

The important thing is confidence, yes? (And appropriate grooming). So I’ll just make sure to be happy and stick my butt out a lot.

I’ve been ignoring the crack on the floor of my cheap, ancient shower for about two months now. I fully intended to continue ignoring it, until a) one of my handy male friends actually listened to my bitching and offered to save the day (I know, feminists, and I’m SORRY), or b) I ended up moving. Except this morning when I hopped in the shower, the floor sort of wobbled and creaked, and I made a yipping noise and plastered myself against the side wall trying not to move, envisioning myself plummeting through the floor and into the spider-infested crawl space below, because I suddenly remembered the only thing holding me up besides a thin piece of fiberglass was the thin piece of PLYWOOD underneath it.

Which, after about two months, is probably soggy. And there’s definitely a bit of a suspicious smell. So I took myself down to the hardware store and pestered the various customer service personnel until one of them helpfully suggested 2 Ton Clear Weld Epoxy. Is it just me, or do those words seem synonymous with my doom?

STEP 1: Tear open package of epoxy, accidentally ripping helpful directions on back panel. Swear. Hold pieces together and read directions.

STEP 2: Go clean and dry floor of shower. Realize this chore should be repeated more regularly.

STEP 3: Wonder where the hell the “provided mixing paddle” the directions continue to mention is at. Rattle empty package. Double-check epoxy mix for mysterious attachments. Decide palette knife from brief obsession with oil painting will have to suffice.

STEP 4: Use palette knife to mix and apply epoxy to dried shower floor. Become slightly high from chemical scent. Think, “Will be having fun at work tonight!”

STEP 5: Remain in bathroom while epoxy perfume drifts through enclosed space, because what the hell. Rethink decision after light-headedness sets in. Leave bathroom. Open windows. Make plans to skip shower tomorrow, for fear of feet sticking to shower floor.

Honestly, I think it would have been better if JTT had been here, stuck in my tiny bathroom huffing epoxy with me. But overall, seeing as none of  my parts are stuck to other parts – or objects – I’m declaring this experiment a success.

I took Lara to her first official swimming lesson yesterday. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, so I did an awful lot of nervous smiling and prayed over and over that I wouldn’t have to strip down to my swimsuit – some of the toddlers were terrified enough, screaming bloody murder as they were cradled in the water, and I would have hated adding to their future nightmares. Luckily they had instructors already in the water who were both willing and able, so I was spared the humiliation of exposing my upper thigh flesh.

Lara wasn’t afraid at all. She was delighted, nearly skipping as we made our way over the gravel and into the pool area. “Let’s do it!” she exclaimed.

I took off her clothes and shoes and she bustled over to the ladder, only to come back a minute later and say, “Here, Auntie Amber!” before spitting her wet, lumpy wad of gum out and dropping it into my already outstretched hand.

Why…thank you. (GROSS).

I stood up to dispose of the gum (seriously? GROSS) and my heart sort of did a slow, dizzy roll in my chest. And I realized that while I talk a good game, I want kids. I really, really want them. Two or three. I love my niece so much, so hugely – every kid, actually. I love their sticky faces and their silly questions and their laughter.

I want children of my own someday, and while I still harbor deep fears that I’d be the kind of parent who has to set money aside for therapy instead of college, I’d like the opportunity to try.

I have things I could be blogging about, but instead I choose to bombard you with be-lated birthday photos. Because it’s my day off, dammit, and any effort is too much.

Brady’s 3rd Birthday Bash (at the start of which the birthday boy was pretty cranky and could only be bribed consoled with cake & presents):

He got a remote control CAT from me, a gift I snagged at the last minute, unaware that it also plays rock music & makes nifty construction noises. He liked it, but his dad liked it more…

…and I don’t think his mom liked it at all. Whoops.

Mmm, cake. Shown to it’s best advantage all over the kid’s face.

Speaking of cake, I’m thinking I should have taken home some of the cherry chip cake I made for Heidi. Too late now. Oh well, my ass is probably thanking me. (And I just realized I have ice cream in the freezer).

As you might have guessed, Brady’s birthday was good. Now excuse me while I go curl up on the couch with some bad TV and junk food.