Well, this whole blog is about me….

But, some basics:
I was born in 1968 to a young woman, courtesy of a young man, both unknown to me; three months later my brand-new adoptive parents, Herb and Delores, brought me home to live with them as their daughter in rural northwestern Minnesota. I like to think they were happy and excited at the time. In 1970, I was joined by an adopted baby brother, Darrin.

In 1972, Delores died of a cerebral hemmorhage from an aneurism. In 1976, my dad remarried and I had myself a step-mom. Although I’ve called her “Mom” since the day she (Marge) moved in with us, I do refer to her as “my step-mom” to others, lest they be confused as to which of my three moms I’m referring: biological, adoptive, or step.

I attended a small-town K-12 where I wildly excelled in being considered a wierdo and loser. It was fun.

When I was about eleven years old, I discovered I was adopted. I spent the next several years denying it, while at the same time thinking, “Aha, so that’s why!”

When I was a high school junior, I met a guy who had a friend I thought was pretty cute. I dated the guy in order to spend time with his friend. Eventually the friend and I hooked up and by the time I was twenty, I’d married him. His name is Paul. We’re still married, and I admit I think the world of him. Today Paul and I live on a farm outside of Crookston, MN, and share our 100-plus year old home with several small dogs and three cats. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with our house, but most of the time, I’m just glad it’s here at the end of the day.

I have been a nurse’s aide in a local nursing home, a hairstylist (imagine!), a physical rehab aide, a secretary/receptionist, and, during my highschool years, a cook’s assistant and a farmer ’s daughter, also known as unpaid laborer.

I love animals and keep myself busy with small dog rescue, fostering, worrying, and transporting.

Artsy-craftsy things tend to appeal to me, as does reading and writing.

I’m just a tad over 40, and still trying to adjust to that fact. Most days I feel somewhere in between 15-25. I used to be told I looked much younger than my age, but time and weight must be catching up with me because I can’t even remember when I heard that last. I’m starting to wonder now if I’ve always looked my age but just acted less mature, thus giving the impression of youthfulness where there was none. Anyway, I’ve switched magazine subscriptions from Glamour to More recently, if that tells you anything.

My dream is to get myself on Oprah as the author of her most current chosen book-club book, while managing to keep myself off Oprah as a guest invited to teach others a lesson in what not to do with one’s life. I don’t want to be anyone else’s “Aha Moment.”

I have a proclivity toward sarcasm and have an ironic sense of humor. I tend to be just a leeeeeetle moody, but healthily so, according to my shrink. I procrastinate to the very last minute all of the time, but I prefer to think of it as “working well under pressure.”  I get tired every day around 3:00pm which lasts until approximately 6:30pm. I’m neurotic but I hide it well most of the time, until you get to know me. I talk back to the television even though I realize it’s pointless to argue with idiots; I say “huh?” to my pets alot, as in “You didn’t just puke on the sofa, did you? Huh?” or “Do you have to go potty? Huh?” I realize this, too, is pointless, but it makes me feel better when I hear Paul doing it, too.

I’m incredibly ambitious but don’t get much done. That’s probably because I can spend hours moving a chair a few feet from its original position, then moving it back again, then backing away and studying the effect before moving it a few feet in the opposite direction…I call this “redecorating.”

Alot of people have told me I look like I’m in my own little world at any given time, and I suppose that’s because I am. I’ve always lived more fully inside my own head even when it’s not the best place to be. People that know me well also tell me I’m hard to know. Which is difficult for me to understand because I can read most people like an open book except for those I decide to unrealistically idolize only to be bitterly disappointed by their flaws when they finally do come out. Really, though, I guess if you want to know me – really know me – this might be a place to start. I keep telling myself I’ll give an honest representation of myself on here and not edit a version of myself I think people will like. 

On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t read this blog. No, really. Don’t read it.