Happy Halloween Everyone!

Birthday Girl

As of my birthday yesterday, I am officially a quarter of a century old. The big 2-5. And I can’t stop thinking, holy wowza. How did I get here?

It seems like it’s a million years coming that I am finally in a happy place and have everything I’ve ever wanted. The husband. The picket-fence. The shiny jewelry (he gave me a new ring as a birthday gift and it’s bling-tastic).

I have it all, and I still have my sad days, my cry-days, my punch-you-in-the-face days. But for the most part, I am happy. I am content. I am merely Stormy, with a grin upon her face. A dirty evil grin? Perhaps. But a grin all the same.

We close on my new house on Monday!!!! :)

In the birch forest we sliced the paper bark from the trees,

and took them home to line Easter baskets

I have a novel in my head and it’s been there for years and it’s tearing my pretty scalp-flesh apart trying to escape. But I keep shoving it back in and sewing the wound shut and I go another day without writing it. Another year. Another lifetime.

Its been in my head since age everyage and ever since she died it’s been pounding in my brain HARDER and HARDER and HARDER.

But Nana’s Cabin goes unwritten. And she is dead and I do not honor her. And I am terrible. And I am done.

Ignorance in central Ohio

Photograph courtesy of Patricia Pierce 2008

I open a Word document every day and stare at the pulsing cursor. What to write? What will matter? What is worth saying? And I come to the conclusion that I have nothing to say, nothing worth the effort of putting finger to key.

I think I’m empty. Cored out like a Halloween pumpkin. Bereft of motivation, I slam the laptop shut and turn my eyes toward the TV and watch another meaningless show. Mindless girl watching mindless TV. After a few hours, I retreat to bed. My day has been unproductive, and I have expected nothing more of myself.

I think I am perhaps too terribly dull to want to write anything here. A post about my house. Big fucking whoop. A whopping one person will read this post, and even he probably only does it out of kindness to the poor boring girl without an original thought in her head.

I don’t paint. I don’t sing. I don’t know how to fold napkins into swans. I don’t play music. I don’t make art. Well, I try to make art, but I fail in the attempt. I don’t make cool podcasts or video diaries, I don’t have any HTML knowledge or any computer knowledge for that matter to make this pathetic blog look cool. I don’t do anything with my mind or hands worth talking about.

I am the talentless. The empty human who must needs walk the earth all her days so the people with talent will feel all the more talent-filled in comparison. I’m the jar that isn’t even half empty because no one bothered to put “half” of anything in to begin with. I am the empty, the ugly, the useless, the lame. I am a void in the world that has taken shape and dressed in ratty clothing.

I have accepted that I am empty but all the same I wish I were one of you. So talented, so beautiful, shiny and new like a nickel that a real person would jingle in their pocket. So I watch you and I wonder what it must feel like to be someone.

We found our house!!!!!!

After searching for houses for all of an hour, we found our house this past Saturday! It was the 3rd house our awesome realtor Carol showed us. As soon as I walked in I said to her, “Cancel the other showings – this is my house.”

It is beautiful. And not just because it is mine (ya know, like how parents think their kid is the best even if they’re a little slow or stupid or a general pain in the ass). It’s a flip house which means a few months ago it was a decrepit heap in the middle of suburbia, but a couple bought the house and renovated the whole thing – new flooring, drywall, bathrooms, entire new kitchen, everything. The wood floors are so shiny. The carpeting is the plushest ever. And the appliances have never been turned on! Brand spanking new, the whole house.

It’s 3 bedrooms and 1.5 baths of pure beauty. And it will be mine on Oct 22nd, which also happens to be my 25th birthday. Happy birthday to me!

Chicken My Foot

So I’m watching season 3 of Prison Break last night, which Netflix so kindly delivered to me. I don’t watch many shows on TV because I always forget to watch an episode, then I fall behind, and it gets me all messed up. So I tend to rent my TV shows from Netflix.

Anyhow, this one scene comes up and one character says to another, “You want me to chicken-foot Sammy?” …… And I immediately burst out laughing.

(Chicken-foot: In the prison, if a prisoner throws a chicken foot down in front of another inmate, the two will have a gladiator-style fight to the death).

Anyhow, I’m laughing because I realize that Chicken Foot Sammy would be an awesome name for a band.

And now my goal in life is to find a nameless rock band, and dub them Chicken Foot Sammy.

Sweet.