It’s been two and a half months since we lost Amber, and while we haven’t healed yet, Grayson is chomping at the bit for a new friend to run his spastic kitty azz ragged.

Two weeks ago we went and met the kitty who will be his new little brother, yesterday we went for another visit during day one of Errandpalooza ‘08 and I managed to snap him a few times. He remembered me from our previous visit, came straight to me and burrowed himself in my lap.

Isn’t he adorable?

We think so too.

Now, what do you think we should name him?

I started keeping a notebook for scribbling random juvenile thoughts when I was in 6th grade. I had a crush on one of my brothers friends and I’d pour my little immature heart out on the pages of a spiral notebook with a light blue cover, hoping against hope that my brothers friend would find it, read my professions and have an emotional epiphany. We’d be boyfriend and girlfriend, go away to college together, get married and live happily ever after.

It didn’t happen, but I kept writing anyway. I kept dozens of yellow legal pads with lists, dreams, hopes, fears and ruminations from my tween years until I was 22.

That year, after my mom passed but before my father did, I got involved with the kind of boy/man I never thought I would. The kind who hit, who dragged me around the apartment (including up and down a flight of stairs) by my hair, who slammed my head into a bathroom wall and closed it in a door. Those are the highlights of the year plus I spent with him.

The worst thing he ever did to me though - wasn’t physical. It was taking my journals, reading them, and in a fit of jealousy - tearing them up and filling my car with shreds of yellow and white line confetti - my words and heart were shredded.

I stopped writing.

In the end, he came at me after I’d worked all day, gone to my second job, then come home to find him in a mood. He was angry that I needed to do laundry at 11pm and came after me. That was the night of the bathroom wall. That was the night he threw me down on the ground and when he came after me I lifted my foot to block his attack, a foot still in a work boot. That was the night I cracked his sternum, left, and came back the next day with my sister and a police officer to pack my things.

It took some time (ten years?) for me to put a pen to paper again without fear of retribution, without fear of having whatever I’d write used against me, but I have. One letter in front of the other, one notebook at a time, I’ve recovered…found my voice and my self esteem.

Now, I go further than I had before and just dump it all out there to begin with. Maybe this is why - when you all come and read but remain silent - I cringe. Part of me cares, part of me doesn’t…but in the end? It’s for me and about me. Anything and everything I write here is what it is: my evolution, my continued healing and my willingness to forgive, let go, move on.

So I write.

I’m doing it now on a keyboard with the help of pixels, a series of 1’s and 0’s, while sitting for a moment in a favorite haunt. There’s a tablet on the table next to me that contains a list of things I need to do, things I want to write about, thank you notes I need to write, places I want to visit, and adventures I have yet to embark on.

I’m whole, and I’m thankful for you - reading and joining me on the journey - silent or not.

I’m old.

No. Srsly. I’m gettin’ up there. 18 years of fresh air in Alaska has been compromised by 14 years of harsh southern sun (with a few west coast years thrown in with a dash of smoochies for good measure) and a lack of love for sunscreen.

Look! It’s the sun! And in Atlanta, it’ll actually change my skin color and make me glow!

Ugh. The sun, she has left her mark. Specifically, marks in the form of sunspots on my cheeks as pointed out by the otherwise lovely anestitician at Pura Vida last month.

So what am I doing about it? Besides wearing sunscreen as of a few years ago?

I went to Ulta, of all places, and I bought make-up.

Ladies, work with me here. You’ve either seen the commercials for Bare Minerals or you know someone (with seemingly flawless skin) who uses the product. I’ve succumbed. I want skin like that! And apparently, I’m delusional enough to think that $60 worth of crap in a pretty box will give it to me.

Instead of feeling confident and as though I’m about to reinvent myself into a magical, mythical creature with creamy perfect skin, I’m like a thirteen year old, bringing home a box of make-up I’m totally not allowed to wear yet. I open it up and there are all these devices and packages inside I can’t begin to comprehend. Did I even get the right color? Who knows. Oh look! A DVD!

Guys, I spent part of my Saturday last weekend watching a DVD that tells me how to put make-up on.

What is WRONG with me?

I’m still clueless and completely terrified of the contents of that box.

We’ve come around, The Mc and I. (flashback link)

From laughter covered fighting over paper towel holders to converting his hangers to TP placement to - just two months ago - my giving him a ring.

We’d picked non-matching rings out for ourselves months before I presented him with his. As a couple of adorable but still in it to win it technology dorks, the selection process was via an IM session while bouncing around on etsy.

Months after said selection upon arrival to Isle of Palms, SC for vacation we fell out of the car and went for our scheduled mani-pedi appointments at the resort spa to decompress from the road trip. After the appointment, as we were walking out of the spa across the palm tree and flowerriffic courtyard and to our room, I reached for his hand. We hold hands a lot. We’re cuddly and affectionate. Or needy. Either way, I had his ring in the palm of my hand and as we laced fingers, I slipped it on.

This weekend, he responded in kind and gave me mine.

The story is semi-delicious and a pinch of pitiful.

We’d gone by the condo Friday after work to check on the progress of the hardwoods that had been installed and stained last week, since our ENTIRE FUTURE hinged on them being just right. Kinda. As we were walking back to the car, he issued an order for my hand. Literally. Walk walk walk “HAND.” walk walk. I reached out and with some struggle he managed to put a ring on my finger, over my speed bump knuckles and sticky Atlanta-in-August skin.

It was pretty, and I was surprised and happy happy happy… but it wasn’t the one I’d picked. It had a pretty iridescent stone I didn’t recognize and I could tell within minutes it was going to hurt my neighboring fingers.

Let’s pause: have I mentioned I suck at receiving gifts? No? Are you sure? Because it should be right there in the “about me” and in the fun facts on the bottom of my resume.

I think it started when my brothers convinced my father to give me downhill skis (+ boots, bindings and poles) for my 15th birthday. They were the skiers in the family, not me. I was ruthlessly and quite vocally disappointed.

So we talked about it Saturday when we got home from a night out with friends (who I am not allowed to write about under penalty of I-don’t-know-what) where we determined the stone was an opal and the truth was he’d originally bought me a different ring that never arrived.

That night, home on the couch, I said something like this (as discussed ad nauseum in therapy): “I want feel like you to love me so much you can’t stand it. And I want you to ignore [sometimes] stupid stuff I’ve said about likes and not likes.”

In addition to being a crappy gift receiver, I’m also a brat. I don’t mean to be. There’s a part in me that’s broken, the one that acts as a governor and translator between when you want to say and what you should say as well as the part that pretends it doesn’t need to be fed but in reality could spend a month at an emotional Chinese buffet and never get full.

So Sunday afternoon when all I wanted to do was sleep, he forced me out of bed and to one of my favorite places for a walk: Sweetwater Creek State Park. I assumed it was in the interest of my muffin top and went grudgingly, falling half asleep in the car on the way there. He should have opened the door and shoved me out, but he is terminally kind and encouraged me gently.

I love that place. We walked, we chatted, we got sweaty, we adventured down on the creek bank. I picked up the discarded home of a wee water critter that looked like a blue baby clam shell. I longed to have my camera with me, because the water had risen since I’d been last winter and the ebbs and churn were too painfully beautiful not to capture. We paused at the top of a hill after seeing a doe who had stopped for a snack on the trail then bounded through the wood at the sight/smell of us, and we plopped down on a bench and listened to the wind in the leaves. He cuddled up and with his cheek to mine said “this is how much I love you”, and pulled a box into view. A little black box from a place I mentioned in passing three years ago with a perfect silver bow.

He’s still a prince among men with a heart too big and good for the likes of me. I’m still a turd with a broken brain who adores him for so many things…not just that he gets me as evidenced in this tale.

Together? We’re as close to official as we’ll probably ever get…with a couple of full circles on each of our hands. The journey is hardly over and yet it seems - somehow - complete.

Blog? Have a uterus? Live in or near ATL? C’mon out and play…

BlogHer ATLANTA will be taking place on Tuesday, October 21, at the Georgia Tech Hotel & Conference Center.

BlogHer ATLANTA is the fifth stop on the six-city Reach Out Tour, and we’re looking forward to spending time with the many and varied “hotlanta” bloggers. We’re still finalizing the details, but you can expect the day to begin with breakfast at 8:30 and conclude with a cocktail reception from about 6 to 8 p.m.

Full Conference Pass: $100.00
Includes admission to the full-day conference and cocktail reception immediately following.

Cocktail Reception Only: $25.00
Pass includes admission to the post-conference cocktail reception only. Perfect for a partner/spouse/friend who wants to join you for the evening festivities. (Does not grant access to any conference programming.)

Took these of my co-worker Michelle’s tween daughter this Saturday morning in the sweet, magic, break of dawn sunlight. These are a few of my favorites…

She was adorable (clearly, hello!?) and fun to shoot, just did her own thing and tolerated my clicking. I love it when I can just shoot, I love it when my friends join me (Paulie is the best shooting partner a girl could ask for, and so tolerant of my “hey you wanna get up at 6am on Saturday” ideas)

My girlfriend HRH told me tonight her grandmother was dying. A brain tumor, 3 to 6 months tops. It’s one of those cases where a) grandma is a hypochondriac but no one saw this coming until she put her shirt on inside out twice in a week and b) no one thought she would go before grandpa.

In the days between the MRI/diagnosis and surgery, she shopped for headstones and called in with updates like “did you know a headstone is much less expensive in town A than town B? We’re looking at one of those double headstone jobs and I wand rose quarts but your grandfather says it’s too feminine…” and canning illegal quantities of beans.

I think the beans are partly to keep her busy in addition to the previously given explanation of a way to make sure the grandfather still eats his veggies when she’s gone.

I asked her “what would you do if you found out today you have 3 months? I mean really, all your friends work, it’s not like they can all be by your side every day to keep you preoccupied. And realistically, you’re probably not going to feel well enough to travel and take care of that long list of things you always wanted to do.”

She thought for a moment and moved on, but I didn’t. Not really.

I have my list, and I’m working on it…because you just don’t know.

Here’s my incomplete list, what’s on yours?

~ Take a bellydance class (done)
~ Learn to play the drums, the cello or the harp
~ Run a full marathon, no more half marathons
~ Go to Ireland, solo for a week(done)
~ Sky dive
~ Laugh…a lot (on going)
~ See the pyramids
~ Learn to snowboard
~ Stay in a treehouse in Fiji (or at least south Georgia)(done, the GA part)
~ Continue to be thankful (on going)
~ Swim nekkid in a big bright blue ocean with no one around for miles(done)
~ Learn to ride (aka drive, man, command) a motorcycle or scooter
~ Finish at least one script and submit it
~ Compete in a biathlon or triathlon
~ Grab a cheap fare and split for Paris or London on a whim(done)
~ Travel on a whim more: Paris, Barcelona, Frankfurt, Brussels, Amsterdam, Madrid, Zurich or Rome
~ Go to a concert, deal with the crowd, and be happy about it(done)
~ Play a team sport and not freak out about it(done)
~ Learn to knit(done)
~ Take a photography class and buy a better camera(done)

Random footnote: my friend HRH? She has a drinking problem.