After five days off, I had trouble getting up today - not just because I let myself sleep late for five days, but because I actually forgot my morning routine.  What time do I get up?  How many times can I hit snooze?  What time do I have to be at work? What do I have to do when I get there? Am I really working every day this week?

My trusty ThinkGeek Neverlate 7-Day Alarm Clock. It lets me set a different alarm time for every day of the week.  Pure genius for someone who works in academia and has an inconsistent schedule (I do get up at a different time every day).

But somehow I got to work (courtesy of the hubby since my car is still in for repairs - hopefully getting it back today) and Pandora rewarded me by playing "Kathy's Song" (Simon & Garfunkel):

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

I have loved that song since long before I knew what that kind of love really felt like, back when I only could imagine that it was possible.  My best friend Mike and I used to listen to Simon & Garfunkel all the time in college, so hearing that song brings me back to that time, but also carries me across time through all the points in which I heard and thought of that song.  It's amazing the sense memories that music invokes.

And then the Cure's "Just Like Heaven" graced my speakers . . .

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved
And drowned her deep inside of me

My friend Jason has been singing in a cover band (various ones) since I met him in . . . 1998? I don't even remember anymore.  The bands always covered this and it was one of the few songs he would sing.  Going to see his band regularly is one of my favorite sets of memories - singing cover songs in a Jersey shore bar, screaming lyrics until 2am, stopping for Snapple and Combos on the way, laughing at all the silly things we saw and did.

Today is that dreamy kind of day - it's really dark out, like it might downpour any second and continue all day.  I woke up with a nauseating headache that, thankfully, bid adieu thanks to some Tylenol, a little coffee, and a shoulder rub from the hubby.  Even though I woke up today thinking this week would be impossible, I think I'll make it okay.

I started off this NaBloPoMo with a visit with my new niece, an amazing and overwhelming experience.  Now the month ends on a dreary but similarly pensive day, thinking about all the things that lie ahead.

As I was listening to my iPod the other day, I got an idea blast.

Some background:  I often make up songs for/about Oreo (my shih-tzu):

And that is how she looks at me when I sing to her.

Most of the time I keep these songs to myself because 1 - they're fleeting and anti-melodic and/or 2 - they're a bit ridiculous.  Recently I shared with my husband that Oreo had a song to the Green Acres theme:

Ordito is the pupper-pie
Ordito never asks you why

Um, never having actually watched the show, that was all I could assemble.  (And, yes, Oreo has many nicknames: Ordito, Torpedo, Pupper Face, Puppers, Pupper Paws.)

But the other day, I started singing along to - no judgement - Lady Gaga's "Poker Face":

Mah mah mah mah mah mah
Mah Pupper Face
Mah mah mah mah mah mah
Mah Pupper Face

So I got to thinking... are there pet bloggers?  Now, I'm not one of those people who treat their pet like a child.  To be honest, I get kind of grossed out when people refer to their pet as the sibling of their human child, like, "Oh, yes, Rover is very excited to have a little sister now."  Kind of feels like a disservice to the dog and the human baby all at once.  But I digress.

So, again - but for the very last time (I think) - as you may very well already know, there was a big ol' blogging conference in Chicago this weekend (Blogher). In addition, there were a bunch of really nifty online blogging events for those of us who weren't in Chicago*. I noodled around some of this stuff, found a whole bunch of new blogs to peruse, laughed, cried, and generally had a good web-strolling time.

What this made me question, though, was where my interests fit in. What kind of panel could I be on? I'm a wife, but this isn't solely a marriage blog, even though I discuss my marriage. I'm not yet a mom, so not a mommy blogger - but when I am, I don't expect this to become all kids, all the time. I'm not very stylish, so it's not a style blog. I'm not actively, gung-ho losing weight nor am I loudly preaching the benefits of HAES (Health At Every Size) so it's not a health or body size/image blog. I read and write about books, but only sometimes.

I'm thirtysomething... but what does that mean? I believe it means my life is unable to be categorized (dictionary.com tells me uncategorizable is not a recognized word, boo - it should be). I'm not dissing people who categorize their writing by choice. Writing is about passion - you have to write what you have a passion for.  Since I was a kid, I've watched life, noticed things. I see the small flinches people make before etiquette takes over. I see the wrong words coming out of someone's mouth before they even get to the ears of whomever's about to be offended. I'm sensitive to the movement of life and the implications of people's actions.

So I can't leave anything out because taking it all in is what I do - though, of course, there is room for editing; I'm not one for no-holds-barred, balls-to-the-wall, gritty honesty most of the time. I am honest - even blunt - but also a bit prissy on occasion. But that's me and that's what this blog is - me.

So I propose: BlogPup '10!  By then I should be able to finish the lyrics to "Pupper Face", make sure that Lady Gaga's people don't sue me, and put together a little dance routine.  I'm takin' my mad pupper lyrics skillz viral, yo (and, yes, I promise to never talk like that again).

*(I did sign up to go to BlogHer '10, though!!  Eeee!!!)