I grew up in a house where ghosts were real and the only rule was No Ouija Boards.
The man I love is on the autism spectrum and we teach one another so much every day we may need to consider carrying notebooks under our arms.
I was a crier and a dreamer and a throw-myself-at-walls-and-screamer. Most of those walls weren’t really there to begin with. I turned my fears into bricks and built a fortress to lock myself in, and I’ve only recently remembered where I hid the key.
I’m long on heart, short on stature, and I’m prone to bitch-ass rants and keeping it real. Oh. And happy. I love happy. I am a happy hoarder. Seriously. A&E is going to come busting into my house and find vermin, 13 years worth of Vegenaise jars, and a small colony of gypsies hiding amongst all of the ceiling-stacked heaps of happy. I want the happy. Want all the happy. I try to surround myself with bliss and joy and those who propel it outward. Happy is my drug of choice. Do you make me smile? True love. Case closed.
I live in the suburbs with my blue-eyed love song and we are getting married in February 2014 and will be trying to start a family soon after. That will make for some very interesting blogging (with photos), considering Mr. PB has been vasectomized.
- Member since October 2013
- Blogging since 2013
- January 24, 1982
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