Reconciliation

They say confession is good for the soul.

I'm not sure who "they" are, besides priests, but I'd hazard a guess that they are a dull lot, without much to confess themselves. Or, as the post-modern VIIs like to say, "reconcile" .... like it's an accounting ledger.

So here is my recent multitude of sins, venial as they may be. I'm purging my soul so you all can feel better about yourselves. You're welcome.

* I don't care what AA says, I prefer to drink alone and do so often and without hesitation.

* I am obsessed - and I mean obsessed in a bad way, not in an "oh, it's okay, it's academic" sense - with ink. Tattoos. Especially tribal tats. I am completely obsessed, lately, with body art. Not that I'm going to do anything about it on my own pasty, blank canvass, but I cannot avert my eyes from the painted flesh of others. It's becoming a bit ridiculous, actually. I dream about tattoos. Not Jesse James, per se - although he IS as hot as the hinges of hell - but boys with ink in general. Is that wrong? Never mind. Don't judge.

* I have itchy feet. Not literally - don't be disgusting. But I just returned home last night from visiting the Fam in Yankeeland, and 8 days before that returned from a long-ish trip abroad...and I'm ready to head out again. Am I running? Am I over-analyzing? Perhaps my *real* father was a traveling salesman?

* Fanfiction: It is an addiction. I cannot - will not - stop reading Twilight fanfiction. And not just the smutty stuff. Au contraire - I actually prefer the stories with plots to the stories that are all violent verbs: thrust, penetrate, scream. I mean, seriously, there are some really talented writers in the Fanfic universe and the stories - entire novels - are free! PLUS many of them are accompanied by kick-ass playlists. I. Love. Fanfic.

* I may be having a fashion midlife crisis. I've completely embraced the neo-punk grunge revival look. Which is not necessarily cool when you're 40 and live in an extremely conservative little town. I loved it the first time (punk in the late '70s and early '80s, grunge in the '90s) and am now regularly sporting thermal shirts with flannels, biker boots, Sex Pistols tees and the most beloved item in my winter wardrobe: steel grey Converse gym shoes. If going grunge is wrong, I don't want to be right. I will, however, stop before I get a mohawk this time.

* Not a confession, but I'm putting you all on notice: My new nephew, Ryan, is absolutely - in all seriousness - the cutest baby I've ever laid eyes on. And you know I'm not big on babies. But he is cute, beautiful, adorable and actually HANDSOME - and he's only 4 months old. He's also huge. Like, in the 90th percentile for length and weight. He's going to be a massive, lady-killing teddy bear of a football player-type when he grows up. It is good to see the few good genes on my mother's side of the family get an airing out every few decades.