One Year. A Bazillion Steps.

This Made me think. It also made me laugh and snort and spit things at my computer screen. As my blogiversary is today, I thought I'd do a similar timeline to commemorate my life as it's been so far and well, give me something to write for my one year of blogging anniversary post that wouldn't make my brain hurt. There are many ideas I've been tossing around, but a full retrospective on the year would take loads of time and I'm sure result in a headache for me and boredom for you. I assure you, I'll do a "look back" soon and it will be concise and well-crafted, but now is not the time. For the moment, please enjoy the following:

1977: I enter the world (read: Pennsylvania) covered in goo and immediately start wailing. Apparently I am quite fond of the sound of my own voice, as it is now 28 years later and I'm still yakking incessantly whenever I can get away with it. In the birthing process I earned the loving nickname "Fathead" from my mother. That is not a joke.

1978: The apartment I live in with my parents floods and we move. During this time my mother wears lots of polyester double knit, a fabric she now detests. In fact, now when I make clothes using polyester fabric she pokes fun. Hypocritical? I think yes.

1979: My father's love of music seeps into my brain and I become a fan of "classic rock" and "oldies" by osmosis at the tender age of 2. I am often found rocking out in my crib when I should have been rocking to sleep.

1980: The USA Hockey Team beats Canada at the Winter Olympics. My dad played in college and, as a result, my entire family is pro-hockey in all respects. Also this year I meet Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer at the US Open. I was thrilled. My fascination with celebrity begins.

1981: I have a babysitter named Roz. Her daughter is Barbie. Barbie is in beauty school. My mom thinks it would be great if Barbie could practice her newly learned skills on me in their backyard while I sit strapped into a high chair, as if they are afraid I'll try to flee. Foreshadowing. Snip, snip, snip, a 3 year old squirms and ends up with horribly crooked bangs that are unnaturally short and stick straight out from my forehead. My obsession with hair and mistrust of anyone named Barbie begin.

1982: Kindergarten. I'm 4. I've been reading for awile now. I'm tiny. All the kids in my class are tiny, but I'm really small. I feel like a midget, and I don't even know what a midget is. Mrs. Orr teaches us a new word in English and Spanish every day and lets us finger paint a lot. She has short, black hair and I think she's beautiful. I don't feel like my brain is tiny.

1983: I get a heart necklace from a boy named Eugene for Valentine's Day. He is my first boyfriend. I don't know what that means. I wear dresses and patent leather Mary Janes to school. I refuse to wear anything else. I am a fashionista in training.

1984: The nation embraces the scary-faced Cabbage Patch Kids as their own. I get one for some holiday present. I quickly learn that one of anything is rarely enough. My mom makes me another. She's the best, way better than the store-bought ones. I take her to show & tell. It's winter, we live on a very sloped street. I slip on the way to the bus stop. Doll flies into the air, doll lands, I land on top, doll's head pops off and rolls down street to rest in dirty slush-filled puddle. I stand at the bus stop crying, freezing and soaking wet from falling into the slushy gutter, clutching my doll, feeling very bad that I decapitated her while the other kids look at me like I'm a murderer. The lady who lives in the house where the bus stop is calls my mom to come get me. She isn't even mad and lets me stay home with her and eat chicken noodle soup. It is one of the best days ever.

1985: I decide pants are alright. It's a belief I still hold to this day.

1986: I get a dog for my birthday, his name is Fudge. I love him. 2 months later my brother is born. I'm glad he's not a girl because his name would have been Brittany Paige and I thought that was a prettier name than my own. Fudge develops epilepsy, you can't have an infant around a seizure prone dog. My parents give Fudge to a lady my dad works with who has a farm in West Virginia. It is years later before it hits me they probably had Fudge put down. I ask them, I am relieved to know he really did go to that farm.

1987: I love pop music. I also love Keds canvas shoes. Keds are expensive, so I try to make the $3 K-Mart ones my mom buys me look like Keds. It doesn't work. Well into my teenage years I realize that it's OK not to have the Keds.

1988: I am full-swing into the New Kids On The Block. Joey is my boyfriend. He doesn't know it, but I do and that's what counts. I see the boys and Tiffany in concert at an amusement park. My dad puts up with it. I think he's the best dad in the world.

1989: I wear 2 pairs of socks every day - one pulled up and one slouched down. I play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with my brother every day after we watch An American Tail on the VHS tape my dad copied from the video store. I'm a great big sister. A boy named Alan kisses me at a party. With tongue. He's very spitty and I don't think kissing is all it's cracked up to be.

1990: Somehow the ozone layer figures out that my mass of mall bangs is a bad idea. I decide I am single-handedly responsible for the deterioration of the atmosphere and go on a campaign from friend to friend about the merits of pump hairspray. When Revlon comes out with the spray where you pump the top down over and over to build up pressure in the bottle resulting in a fine mist to mimic aerosol I am thrilled.

1991: We move. Not only do we move, we move the summer before I start high school. I hate my parents. I hate our new house. I meet K Lance. Maybe this new place isn't so bad.

1992: Flannel is king. You never see me without pegged jeans, penny loafers and a flannel (if not worn outright, then tied around my waist). I start to think maybe being like all of my friends isn't so cool. I start making jewelry out of scraps of things I'd find in old drawers & recycling bins and begin to shop at Goodwill, transforming cast-off men's blazers into works of art with buttons and lace.

1993: I never admit it to anyone, but I don't see what the big deal about Nirvana is. I pretend to like them anyway. I'm a teenager. I'm a raving bitch and my mom and I don't get along.

1994: I'm scared about college. I think it won't be too much fun and high school was pretty good. I apply all over the place simply to get as far away from my mom as possible.

1995: I graduate from high school. The week before I leave for college (far, far away - by choice) I dissolve into a heap and beg my dad not to make me go so far away. I don't want to leave, I leave anyway. I hate college. The first 2 weeks are a blur, as I drink excessively and smoke so much pot I don't remember them. I don't go to class. When I realize I need to save my semester it's much too late.

1996: I get a phone call as I'm walking out the door to register for 2nd semester classes (with a new resolve and clarity - I'm going to take classes I'm interested in and study and get good grades). My parents got my grades in the mail. My mom doesn't speak to me, she's too angry, my dad tells me not to register, they're not paying anymore. He says come home. I say no (they had moved to Virginia after I left for school). I move out of the dorm and in with a guy who was bad news from the start, but I was 18, bad news was the only news.

1997: I come home early from work and find him in bed banging a "friend" of mine. I call my mom, who hasn't spoken to me in almost a year, I tell her I need her to come get me in 2 weeks. She never once asks why. She never scolds. She just comes. We drive from Indiana to Virginia. I realize I never hated her.

1998: I move out of my parents' house. I take some classes at community college. I feel pretty good about my 19 year old self. I think I know what hip-hop is. I'm wrong, but that's OK.

1999: Community college has done its job and I transfer to a university. I *gasp* join a sorority and meet Kristie. I think she's cool (she has this eyelet skirt her mom made her and she wears it for sorority rituals - it's the tipoff that she is much better than the other girls), but I don't know at the time how important she will be in my life.

2000: I work for a catering company. I work a lot. I don't yet know that killing yourself for other peoples' businesses isn't smart.

2001: I think the guy I've been dating since I was 19 is someone I want to be with for a long time, but I don't think he feels the same. September 11th happens and I decide I need to lead a full life. I break up with him. He now says it was a big mistake to let me walk away. I disagree. He didn't let me do anything.

2002: I meet a guy. I like him. I move into a great apartment in DC. New guy becomes a major player in my life, despite the fact that he's exactly my height and wears bow ties. My ability to ignore red flags continues to develop.

2003: Guy moves in with me. Kristie gets me an interview at her company. I get the job. It's a crazy place, but I love it. I gain 40 lbs. There are those red flags again. Ooh, red is pretty. Guy & I get engaged.

2004: I realize I can't marry guy. I call it off. I stay with Kristie for a month in a room she rents. She never once makes me feel like I'm imposing, even though I was. We move into my place in DC. Mina loves to shit on the carpet. My feelings for The Man grow. I admit I've always wanted to live in New York. I lose 40 lbs. I get a job and move to Brooklyn.

2005: I spend a lot of time figuring the city out. I spend even more time figuring myself out. I start blogging. I hate being in a long-distance relationship with the man. I love/hate being in New York (if you get that you get it, if you don't there's no way I can really explain it). I love the people I meet there. I'm there almost a year. The man moves to Miami and asks me to come. I go. I don't think twice.

2006: The house in Miami is on the market. It sells. The plan to move back to Brooklyn is set. I now know I don't really know what hip-hop is, but I like it. I'm still OK with pants. I'm the most fully me I've ever been.