And this, dear readers, is what we call...

My 400th post here in the B-World Blog. Holy crap.

It's taken me almost four years to get here. That's four hurricanes, four digital cameras, three jobs, three Gator National Championship titles, countless threats of bitchslapping, $240 worth of pudding, one amazing fiance, and one timeless joke about the Greek Army, to get to right here, right now. Yikes.

The irony of me going through yet another one of my fabulous writer's-block-it's-just-a-dry-spell-no-inspiration-to-be-had-bullshit episodes is not lost on me, friends.

I try to think about why I've been so neglectful of writing here. Someone told me once that sometimes you stop writing in your blog or your journal because things are going so well that you don't have anything to write about. I don't know if I agree with that. Sure, I've been known to fire off a missive when I'm feeling particularly riled about something, or when I feel the intense need to over-share. Sometimes, absolutely small, crazy, and wonderful things happen, and I want to write about those, too.

But I don't.

Then I peek at all those wonderful blog writers who have allowed me to come into their world for a few brief moments every so often, whose voices I can hear in my head when I see their written words, and I'm so inspired!

Then I don't do shit.

On the plus side, things are going pretty well.

Work has been very calm the past couple of months, since the ouster of our biggest "issue" here. Wedding plans are chugging along, and I am just pretty much telling my mom to get all crazygonuts if she wants, but I am still keeping final word on certain things. The stress is just not worth it, and heck, I think it gives her joy to be doing this.

Maybe it's true: I can't write because there's nothing for me to bitch about.

Or I just haven't figured out how to highlight the good stuff, to write about it in a way that truly conveys what's going on, and have it make sense.

Any suggestions on how to do that?

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So much to say...

So little time at work to sneak in a blog post, and once I get said time, I forget what the hell there is to say. Getting old totally sucks.

I am really enjoying my new workplace. I started this job in April, and I really like the people I work with, having regular hours, the interaction with the patients. It is so not like the last place, where I wanted to gouge my eyes out with the closest available staple remover. And yes, I still miss working with my little tots and punkasses. But I have some aspect of that regular interaction with patients that I really missed while working in the Seventh Layer of Hell.

I'm also back to working with mostly women again, which is working out pretty well. Everyone still looks at me funny though when I start getting the glaze in my eyes that only comes with 2 things: heavy intoxication, or Gator Footbaw (!).

Funny enough that those two things don't have to be mutually exclusive.

Speaking of the latter, the last few weeks of it have been quite excellent. I'm even toying around with starting another blog a little more focused on my observation of sport. But that would require time and effort, and, well, good things to write about. And really, who wants to hear me talk out of my ass about random shit? Related to sports, I mean?


Certainly not Peter. Unless he's taking a break from the Tetris, that is.

Ah, hell. Give me your thoughts. I'm going back to looking busy.

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We're already wet, and we're gonna go swimming.

I know, it's been a while since I've posted a lyrical blog title, but I still have 13 Going On 30 on the brain from a few weeks ago. You'll have to forgive.


I have often found myself doing the same thing. Except without the really expensive dress. Or the bod. Crap.

Anyway, I've been spending the last few weeks thinking about blogging, so that should count for something. I've been otherwise occupied with trying to say my age without coughing uncomfortably, threatening to burn couches at a moment's notice, and fiddling with blog and MySpace layouts. Seriously. You know it's sad when I get all jazzed about changing the colors on my template and renaming everyone in my Top 20, and I still don't do dick about posting.

I should probably take a hint from Lisa and keep the MySpace layout simple. But the colors are so pretty!

Jesus, this dry spell is getting annoying.

Anyway, I managed to get through the birthday with thankfully little fanfare. I got some nice gifts, one of the greatest of which was a picture frame with four Gator Football photos: one of Tebow flying into the end zone, one of Reggie Fuckin' Nelson breaking shit up during the Alabama game, one of Urbs hugging Chris Leak after the MNC, and a black and white one of just Chris Leak. Ben did an awesome job of picking out the photos. I'll have to post a picture of it here later, so you can view it in all its glory.

I'm all over the joint, as usual. I can't focus for shit. This is probably why I can't put together a sensical post. My head is starting to hurt. I'm going to go drown my sorrows in a glass of milk and a few Peanut Butter Creme Oreos. Don't fucking judge me.

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