When I was a kid my mother faithfully dropped us off for school every morning. It was always the same routine. She would undoubtedly still be in her house coat and her hair gave new meaning to the term "bed head". My brother and I were not exactly morning people which attributed to much of the silence on the way to school. As we opened the car door and reached for our bags she would tell us that she loved us and then just as the car door was closing and we were rushing off to greet our friends she would call out to us "learn something". She said it every single day.

I have never paid much attention to Mom's little catch phrase. It has always been just another one of her eccentricities that make her mom. I sat down today to reflect on 2009 and her words popped into my head once again. "Learn Something". Looking back over this last year I started to wonder if I had in fact learned anything.

Top 10 Things I learned in 2009

1) Trying to drink my weight in crown and coke on a random Tuesday never leads to anything positive.
2) Spending any significant amount of time at work often makes me want to punch babies or the elderly.
3) I am apparently going to have to learn some kinda of tricky voodoo jazz so that I can put a curse on my BFF's house so that it will never sell and she will be forced to stay in DFW with me.
4) Brett Michaels only takes a crap in complete darkness. That is just weird.
5) No matter how hard I pray or what kind of deals I try to make with God, I will never get to date a real honest to goodness vampire.
6) Dating a man that is the spitting image of my husband and literally old enough to be my father was never a good idea. Interesting yes... but a horrible idea.
7) I can eat Chipolte once a week and never get tired of it.
8) It is absolutely possible to be so hung over that even your hair hurts.
9) Brett Michaels is, was, and will always be a total douchbag.
10)No matter how hard I fall or what mistakes I make, I am lucky enough to have people in my life that love me unconditionally and are willing to help me put the pieces back together.

I recently started seeing a grief counselor and I somehow simultaneously became mentally unstable. It’s interesting how the two coincide. But hell, I had to do something. My life was quickly becoming a really bad episode of the real world . I was undoubtedly the drunk girl in every season with her Ed Hardy hat on sideways screaming obscenities at everyone within a one mile radius.

I knew in my heart that the steps I took on my own to push through my emotional rollercoaster were only baby steps and really getting me no where. People say that toddlers look like a drunk person trying to walk when they first start out on their feet. Needless to say I took this to another level and went ahead and added crown and coke into my regular diet.

I have only been to two sessions and I am more than ready to give up completely. I meet with Dr. Evil every Tuesday. After our first meeting, she recommended that I come in once a week instead of every other week. I believe that was her polite way of telling me that I really needed a designated “out of order” sign to wear around my neck everyday. I agreed.

Last weeks session was like jumping off of a high dive in the middle of winter in your birthday suit. I was not at all prepared for the flood gates that followed. I did not know which was way up for the first couple of days and then went ahead and ended the week with going bat shit crazy on Brett Michaels. He packed up his things and left the next day.

Following that train wreck, I tried to leave town for the weekend and go out to my family’s farm to “get away”. This was not my brightest idea to date. My poor mother drug me around parts of Texas that even legislation had not seen for decades. I could barely get out of the car most of the time, my stomach was in knots, and I would have rather milked a bull then put food in my mouth. This road trip obviously did not work and I found myself praying for Monday.

I have another appointment with Dr. Evil tonight. I am not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending another hour locked inside a tiny room full of mirrors and questions that I do not have the answer to. Since fleeing to Costa Rica is not exaclty an option for me on a random Tuesday, I will have to settle for picturing her head as a basketball and squishing it while she is talking. Surely she will not be offended by this.

Needless to say I have been dreading this past weekend like a wart on your vag. I would have rather slipped into a coma for 72 hours than gone through my first fathers day without my Dad. Obviously this was not possible. With my brother thousands of miles away, I decided to take this opportunity to hibernate with my pug inside the comforts of my fabulous new apartment.

I had a weekend planned of pj's, take out, and a trip to blockbuster. After the week I had, it was in my best interest to stay away from the general public... mostly for their own safety. However there was one small hole in my plan, I had agreed much earlier in the week to go out with Brett Michaels on Friday night. Though I had absolutely no desire to be in any public venue where I would run the risk of seeing anyone with their father or even just happy people in general. I knew it would be good for me to get out of the house for at least one night.

I drove out to Saginaw to pick up my date for what was to be an evening I will always remember. As I was waiting in my car for Brett to come out, I thought to myself that no matter what, I really did want this evening to be fun. I needed laughter and I needed uncomplicated. As Brett walked up to my car I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. No matter what I have said about this man or the sheer fact that he smoked his mom, he still does things to me. I wish I could explain or better yet even describe it. He is just sexy. Even in his horrible clothing and his terminator sunglasses... I just want to jump him. Moving on.

We get to dinner and we immediately begin our playful banter. One of our favorite past times is to horribly embarrass the other person in public. We also have this thing where we thumb wrestle and/or play tic tac toe at the table while we are waiting on our food. As we are sitting there, we start going over show times when Brett informs me that he has to be home by 1:00am. I ask Cinderella why he suddenly has a curfew at the ripe old age of 31. Brett then tells me he has to be home by 1:00 am not because he will turn into a pumpkin but because he is sporting a new court ordered ankle monitoring device. I ask you... What the french?

Brett has had some trouble with drinking in the past. He may have one or two or even three DWI's under this belt. This much I knew. However, the powers that be recently decided that he could no longer be trusted and gifted him with this beautiful new bling for his ankle. Again... What the french? Am I really sitting here? Is this really happening? I sat there in silence for what felt like forever. After that, all I could do was laugh. I mean really... what is a girl to say when their boyfriend may have been on an episode of cops?

I am not sure if I always over react or he always under reacts in these situations, but I found myself again sitting next to him in complete shock. Did my little mom smoker really just tell me that he is wearing a flippin ankle monitor? As always, Brett tries to simplify the problem. He tells me that it is no big deal because he only has to wear it for three months. THREE MONTHS? When did I sign up for this and how do I cross my name off of the list.

I wish I could tell you that I took Brett home after dinner. I didn't. We still went to the movies, I still laughed my butt off, and I still let him hold my hand in the theatre. I spent the rest of the weekend as planned. I held myself hostage in my apartment only coming out for food or to walk the dog. I watched the 103 movies I rented at blockbuster, I cried like a five year old, and I hit ignore on my cellphone more times than I can count.

I could not get rid of Brett Michaels fast enough this side of three months ago. The man was on my last nerve and I wanted to break his knee Kung Fu Panda style. I stopped taking his calls and tried to move on. Unfortunately, this was not as easy as I first thought. As much as I wanted to strangle this man, I started to miss him after a while.

Brett was a big part of my life for the better part of a year. He was there when no one else could be. He made me laugh and he never, not even once, put up with my shit. (I so need that) I missed the things he brought to my life. Also known as the things I easily forgot once he started to annoy me. Things like him giving me a hard time or sending me a stupid text message during the day. I missed his dumb laugh, his retarded jokes, his constant cleaning of my kitchen, the sound of his voice, the way he eats, how he let Jersee sleep on his neck at night, his genuine desire to make my home better in anyway he could, the way he scratched my back, how well he got along with my family, his southern manners, the way he held my hand every time we where in the car, his ridiculous nick names for me, and mostly... his friendship. Above anything else, Brett and I were friends and I missed my friend.

He spent all last weekend with me. He was so much happier and thankfully back to his old self again. He was fun to be around and he managed to keep me laughing from the time he came over until the time he left. Brett is uncomplicated and I so appreciate that about him. There is no stress about where this is going or when can he see me again. We are both incredibly independent people and I need that right now.

I am not expecting the "fairy tale" when it comes to Brett. Its this simple, I will let him make me happy until he doesn't anymore.

Tonight is my last night in Plano. Break out the Boons Farm.... I am finally out of there. I am going to waive my hands in the air and I am going to waive them like I just don't care.

I have never been more ready to leave an apartment. Every time I wake up in that tiny shoe box I am reminded of the night I got a call from the hospital about my Dad. It's like a dark cloud lives over the roof of my apartment and I cannot seem to escape it. That place is haunted with memories of terrifying pain and such incredible loss that I pity the person that moves in after me. On top of that I half expect to see Brett Michaels playing guitar hero in his pajamas every time I open the front door. I am ready for a new environment. I am ready for change. Not Obama kinda change... but change none the less.

Shortly after my Dad passed away I made the genius move to purchase a sign to go in my living room that read "There is no place like home". As soon as Brett Michaels was done hanging it I wanted to throw them both out of the window. That apartment was never home. Too much happened. I am looking forward to making a home for myself again. Maybe if I click my little red stilettos together a couple of times, I will wake up tomorrow and be right where I want to be.

Things have gotten a little fuzzy lately. Time seems to be running in circles around me and I cant seem to make sense of it all. For instance I looked up one day and it was May... The last time I remember looking at a calendar it was flippin March.

I found out recently that I will be moving once again, I really should invest in my own moving van at this point. By the end of the month I will be back in the LC. I am looking forward to being closer to my family and it also helps that my new pad will be pimptastic. Did I really just say that? Ladies and gentleman, let the packing begin.

Brett Michaels has recently started calling again, the first couple of times I did not answer the phone. I remember the first time that I had heard his ring tone in a while, my head turned to the side like my pug does when she hears a funny noise. I finally answered on the 5th or 6th call I am not sure which. We talked for 20 minutes or so. He is doing well, still living the dream out in Saginaw and trying to get his life back in order. He wants to be friends... I guess I don't see any harm in that? He wouldn't be the first person I would call if my little hut was on fire, but I think more so he meant that he needed a good friend, and that I can handle.

Well it's official, Brett Michael's tour has Finally ended. ( I know some of you are jumping for joy) I woke up yesterday morning and I just could not look at him anymore.

Things started to go down hill rather quickly over the past couple of weeks. We used to spend almost every day together then it went to just every couple of days. Finally this last time he made the long haul from Saginaw to Plano he was there for less than 24 hours. I could not get him out of my house fast enough!

Looking back to when we first met, it amuses me that the things that I once thought were sexy are now some of his most annoying qualities. On our first date I was so enamored with this man that I could barely sit still. I thought he was sex on a stick and I could not stop staring at him. I remember telling my co workers and friends how nervous I was around him. I was fascinated with his mannerisms and the way he spoke. Even the tiny scar under his left eye sent me to places in my imagination that I had not been before. Cut to a little under a year later and almost everything he does makes me want to high five him in the face!

Don't get me wrong, my relationship with Brett had it's purpose. It was not all bad, he was there for me during a time that no one else could be. I needed 24 hour attention after my father passed away and Brett was there to listen and to help in anyway he could. He packed a bag and moved in with me for most of December and all of January. I will always have a special place in my heart for him because of that.

Brett had a good run and he made for some pretty interesting blogs but in the end I knew that if I did not let him go at that very moment that I would soon grow to hate him and he doesn't deserve that. As I say at the end of any relationship that does not work out, he will make someone very happy one day it just isn't going to be me.

So I was sitting there watching TV with Brett Michaels last night when he begins to tell me the most disturbing story I have ever heard. I think I may have even thrown up in my mouth a little bit.

We were watching an episode of Saving Grace when the subject of cremation came up. Grace, the main character, accidentally ashed her cigarette in someones ashes because they were in a beer can. Classy! Any how, I made the comment that this was a little disturbing and that I found it very odd that someone would put another persons ashes in a beer can. His response was shocking to say the very least. He said "We rolled my mom up in a joint and smoked her." My mouth fell open and I could start to feel the vomit rising in my throat. I somehow managed to muster a mere "What?"

He explained to me, with a strait face might I add, that this was his mom's last wishes. I began shooting off question after question somehow trying to make sense of it all. His only response or defense was and I quote "We didn't smoke all of her" as he gave me the what is the big problem eyes. I found myself becoming ill and I could not stop staring at him.

As I was trying to process the information that had just entered my brain I felt myself move away from him a little on the couch. I could tell by his mannerisms and by his tone that he did not think that there was a thing wrong with this. His mother passed away when he was 17. He was young, grieving, and obviously not in his right mind. But how in the french do you smoke your mom???

I wandered over to my apartment this afternoon where I just knew that I would find Brett Michaels (My "houseboy" for lack of a better word) sitting in his underwear in the middle of the day playing guitar hero. As I was making my way up the stairs, Brett suddenly opened the door and looked like that crack head we have all seen before, you know that one that lives in a apartment and opens his door every five minutes to look around because he thought he "heard" something.

The entire scene caught me off guard so I immediately asked him what was wrong. He replied with "I think Jersee left". WHAT? You think my 20lb pug opened the front door and walked out for what... a smoke break? What the french do you mean "She left"... As all of this was running through my head I managed to come up with a much simpler response... "What?"

He again tried, rather horribly, to explain to me that he thought Jersee left. He went on to say that he could not find her in the house and that she might have gone out the front door. Again.... what is running through my head is his use of the word MIGHT and you cant FIND her? How the french did you loose her? Did guitar hero keep you so busy that you didn't notice my little a$$ dog walk over to the front door, open it, and let herself out? Instead I believe my response was "SHIT!"

I immediately jumped into mommy action and ran frantically around the apartment searching for her. Of course she was no where to be found. I leaped past douchebag on my way out the front door and told him I was going to look for her. I began searching building by building all the while thinking that if something has happened to my dog how this man was surely going to loose a testicle.

Luckily I found her only minutes later at least 500 yards away from my front door. She had no idea what in the heck my problem was or why I was huffing my way over to her. She looked like she was in the middle of a Downy commercial frolicking in a meadow on a hot summer day with the wind blowing ever so gently in the breeze. She was on her own little puggy adventure and not at all impressed that her mother was screaming her name and running towards her like she had just stolen something.

Brett caught up to us just as I grabbed her. We all started to make our way back to the apartment. He apologized, not profusely enough for my needs at the moment, but he at least acknowledged that perhaps he did not have a good enough eye on her.

In the end I was just glad that she was okay.....but.... really? You think Jersee "left"? That moment will surely stick with me for a while.

So as Valentines Day approaches this year, I find myself pondering whether or not I will be dining alone. This is an especially fragile time for me and I doubt that sitting at home watching Bridgette Jones and drinking two bottles of wine will exactly lift my spirits.

I have a man in my life that we will call "Brett Michaels" for the purposes of protecting his identity. I could drive out to BFE pick him up and take him to dinner where he would undoubtedly be wearing black jeans and some awful shirt. I will have to pick the restaurant and pick up the check. The upside to this is that 90% of the time he is a lot of fun. Despite his bad hair and tacky clothing he usually keeps me giggling like a school girl for most of the evening.

So.... Do I make the valiant effort to go pick up Mr. Michaels for what will be an eventful night with absolutely no long term potential, or do I put my big girl panties on and stay home for the evening.... I still have not decided.