Kickin' it Gansta

So I just spent the last hour reading a blog a friend recommended to me. My conclusions:
1) I am a crap writer.
2) My blog is sooo boring!
Therefore, I apologize. Grant once said that single people spend most of their writing time worrying about how they aren't in relationships. At the time I could have countered that married people could try to be a little more interesting and that no one really cares when children start using their own potty chairs effectively, but that wouldn't have been true. Both broad generalizations are incorrect, aren't they? Regarding the second point, I DO care. Especially if it's about Zoey, or about Nate and Kari's fam. Seriously, the Wards are the best looking family ever-- no one should be that attractive. They belong in an ad campaign for Ralph Lauren or the Children's Place. As for the first, well, I'll try to be less boring, because believe it or not, my life is more than my dramatic love issues.
But, let's not be hasty and quit cold turkey, shall we? I'm happy to report there was a headline on the Comcast homepage today that said something about the New Year being the best possible time to break up with someone. Ta-Da! Maybe that's why after the initial theatrics, I feel better than I have in ages. I mean, if you're going to get stomped (and with hindsight already coming into play, this never should have felt like the end of the world), at least it comes at a good time of year. I'm always sad when I see people break up in October. The initial back-to-school infatuation seems to dwindle about midterms, and then they are depressed for the rest of the year. So many thanks, former love. Your timing is excellent. Dancing around my house to Beyonce singing "If you like it then you should have put a ring on it" also helps. But don't worry-- I'm not losing my edge. I'm mostly still jammin to Wolf Parade.
Other therapeutic stuff-- the reinvention of the Van Time Girls. VT has kind of dwindled, unfortunately. It started off with Amanda going to BYU. Then at an ever-alarming pace, other people got lives and moved on. Meilea is in Deming, planning wedded bliss with charming Terry. Tresann is now a Van Drawson, Amy will soon be a Call, and Audrey ditched us to play softball in Virginia. Lou and Pam and I have been a bit at a loss, and the fact that I now drive the Chrysler 300 C instead of the Towne and Country LE is also a bit of a drag. Don't get me wrong. My new car is HOTT, but it lacks a few things the Limited Edition, egg-shaped minivan had-- like room (not a huge problem now that there aren't as many of us, though I've gotta say making out in the van was a hundred percent easier than kissing in the car[though that really doesn't have any bearing on VT]) and headrests that come all the way out of the seats-- those of us sitting in the front can't even see the people in the back.
But the VT girls are nothing if not resourceful. We're going through metamorphosis, and adapting. Knowing we had to recruit was a little overwhelming until we decided we wouldn't have to discriminate based on gender. Of course, there will be times men will not be welcome. The boys seem to get a little bent out of shape when we talk about the fellas we're actually into, as opposed to worshipping them and showering them with brotherly love. Plus also, it's a completely matriarchal government, so there will be times when Y Chromosomes will be excluded. Still, most of the time we will allow the boys in. And here comes the mafia again. I think it started with my car-- it just looks cool. Plus, most everyone has been able to come up with a gangster alter-ego. Paul is Pauly or Paulo, Louise got shorted to Lou, Pam got lengthened to Pamela. We need to work on Sev, because his fake Italian accent is kind of a downer after a while. Little Anthony is now Fat Tony (very ironic if you know the guy) and we've retained Russell the Love Muscle to act as our bouncer/bodyguard. I imagine Trevor can be phased back in so long as he doesn't go around writing "Big Sexy" on fogged up windows anymore. Adam and Brandon (aka "Goonie") are locked in as well. I'm still searching for my gangsta name, but I don't think it's right to ignore the Russian mafia. After all, we don't want to be racially insensitive or limiting, now do we? Or maybe it's my Slavic pride. I don't know. I just like the idea of being "Natasha." Oh, who am I kidding? We're a bunch of dumb kids who like to get together and drink sparkling cider out of red plastic cups. See? I'm still boring, even when I try to be edgy.