Give Me Two Steps, Give Me Two Steps, Mister

My friends Glynnie and Hot Sauce Flo Dad are getting married, taking the proverbial steps down the aisle. Everyone is very happy about it.

So happy, in fact, that Glynnie's girlhood friends got a bunch of us other girls together recently to celebrate the union with burritos and margaritas. And presents. Oh, and cake.

The wedding shower was in Pittsburgh, which I frequently opine is the San Francisco of the East. Then people invariably groan and throw things at me, and not in the sexy Tom Jones/panties kind of way, either.

Yet and still, I love The Burgh. It has an exorbitant amount of character with a reasonable cost of living. I am an adult now, and I must consider things like this.

Where did that pesky point go? It was here just a minute ago …

Ah, yes. The point, then, my pretties is I got to spend a lot of time with my D.C. Sisters and finally got to meet the lovely Elise, Kera, Missy and Sarah.

During the four-hour car ride up with Megan Jane and Hannah Banana, and throughout the weekend, it became apparent that there's a lot of change in the air. As women, most of us pride ourselves on our intuition and the sense that we're on the "right" path.

But, how does one get on that "right" path?

Megan Jane shared her patented Two-Step System for navigating life. Here it is: Take two steps toward your goal.

That's it. Take two steps—the universe will reward you or let you know that it's not the correct path. Simple. Progressive. Brilliant.

Now, A.J. and a few others from whom I'll tolerate it, think I am a "flake" because I appreciate and use astrology, numerology, crystals, meditation, intentions, intuition, bourbon and dream interpretation to help me along the way.

I assure you, my pretties, I have a real grown-up job, I wear my seatbelt when I drive, and I use coupons at the grocery store. I'm not a flake.

But, I do frequently get off my path. So, I've been using Megan Jane's Two-Step System a lot these days, and much good has come from it.

I've decided to go back and get my Master's degree. It's time. I've been out of school and paying on my loans for 16 months too long.

I'm also taking some folks up on their offers to help me out with my music. Scary, my pretties.

It's like handing your diary over to someone and asking them to proofread it. But a wicked talent dude named Travis that Kristin set me up with is throwing himself headlong into my little ditties. It's very exciting. He added sort of a disco beat to a song I wrote about my dead Mom, and I love it. You've just gotta trust me on this.

And this project is finally getting underway. If anyone knows of some swingers who'd be willing to talk to me about their sex lives, I'd appreciate it.

Speaking of swingers, Peter DeWolf approached me the other day. He said, "Hey pretty lady, I like your style. Come sit on Burt Reynold's Mustache for a good time."

I was like, "Peter DeWolf, it's like you've known me forever, but I have no idea who you are."

Come to find out, like all good hookups, Mist 1 was involved.

So, that is how someone who never posts on her own damn blog will soon be contributing to a group blog on the 24th day of every month. Peter DeWolf was adamant that I "bring the funny."

Oh, I'll bring the funny, mister. Just you watch me.

Yessereee Bub, lots of stuff going on 'round here.

For those of you keeping score: A.J. is still amazingly wonderful, the new jobby job remains most excellent, but … I have put back on ALL of the weight that I lost (thanks A.J for "loving me just as I am" but this ain't cutting it) and there's a really funky smell in my car.

You know, some good some bad.

So, I gots to get to steppin', kids—Two-Stepping, that is. God, I am so clever.

I'll give ya'll a reminder when you can find me on the 'Stache, but in the meantime, go say hi to the nice folks over there.

Oh! Whoa—I almost forgot. The Boob Hat. I thought it was pretty much self explanatory, but I guess not. Here you go, sickies. I should preface with: I don't think the proportions are very accurate, particularly in the nipple area.



Oh, and the guy in the dickie and Santa hat is none other than my brother-in-law John. Not Bake, though, who wears a different kind of Dickies. John has a Dickies and Nog party every year at Christmas, which is also just what it sounds like: You wear a dickie and drink egg nog. Because it's funny, my pretties.

Whatever. Don't roll your eyes at me.

In the Comments section, tell what you need to take two steps toward.