1.  My parents moved away.  I think this is the first time one of us has moved away from the others that I haven’t been filled with gaspy abandonment issues. Since I’m 37 years old, I wanna say YAY ME, but feel it is only appropriate to do so in a very small voice, as most people master this around kindergarten.  yayme!

2.  My Middle  sister is due sometime this month.  My parents now live 7 miles from her, and plan on helping with the new baby.  Middle calls me up and demands to know when I will come and gaze at her offspring.  Then she calls back three days later, tentatively revoking any invitation, based on the fact that my kids may or may not be cootie infected cootie carriers.   About two days after that, she calls and wants to know why I’m avoiding her.  Even though we live 4 hours away.

3.  My dad’s… whatever it is… seems to have leveled out.  Crossing fingers, still watching.  As far as I can pry out of my mom and sister, he hasn’t taken a turn for the worst with the move, which is a good sign.

4.  Hooookay.  So there’s this other thing I haven’t been talking about.  And for those of you who hate vagaries and meta bullshit, grab your parachutes and jump out now.

A few months ago, something super cool happened to me.  Winning the lottery style cool.  The big problem, is that it happened under my other name.

I think I’m pretty OK with all of you knowing this cool thing happened to me, but I’m super-duper-pooper-scooper not cool with people who know me because of The Cool Thing coming over here and reading this blog. I mean, it is a blog pretty much dedicated to me making an ass of myself, complete with personal medical maladies and the occasional nipple pic. In some ways The Cool Thing is like becoming a Disney Kid type protégé, and this blog is my hacked nude pics, my first album where I say ‘damn’ and talk about how I can’t be tamed, and where I wear too much eyeliner and make duckface into the camera.

My first instinct was maybe to flush Anne Nahm completely, but that idea makes me feel choked up (not only in the tearful way, but also in the pillow-over-my-head-smothering type way).  It’s been basically 6 years of therapy, but it saved me from becoming a Stepford Wife.  In fact, if not for this blog, The Cool Thing wouldn’t have happened.

It seems the universe must be trying to teach me something, since I’ve lived my twisted little secretive life until it’s knotted up so badly I can’t talk on an anonymous blog.  Wheeee.  Way to go, Anne.  Anyway, there it is.  It’s the most asshole thing in the blogging world to talk about something you can’t talk about, but since the motto of this blog is embarrassing myself, there’s a strangely appropriate dovetail.  I want to round it all of with a big ole INTERNET WAT DO?, except I kinda know what I’ll do.  I’ll refuse to tell anyone what happened until  I slowly suffocate on the matter.  Oh, the self loathing of admitting that is making me nauseous, so I think I’ve achieved what I wanted here.