I am spectacularly sick. 

I missed NaBloPoMo yesterday.

I guess this means that I have to tell myself “Aufedersein” for making a crappy dress that looks like it’s “Pooing Fabric” and not “Making it work”. I guess there is nothing left to do but hug Tim Gunn and pack up my work station.

Oh, wait…That’s Project Runway. Never mind.

Sigh.

I am glad that the pressure is off.  I had to throw up some pretty lame posts to meet the requirement and I HATE doing that. 

Still, I feel bad that I was so close to finishing and that I failed.  I really should have planned this whole thing better. I have no one to blame but myself.  It’s like I voted myself off the runway.

Suck a duck.

I’ll do better next year.

It’s pretty much a given that if your brother-in-law calls to tell you that he was thinking about you in the shower, the conversation that follows is not going to be the same old, same old.

“I was thinking about you in my shower, Loralee, and I had an idea. And ideas in my shower are never wrong. I have come to the conclusion that you are the only one that can help me and the sherpa.”

Now, if you are anything like me, you are probably thinking, “HUH????”

Have any of you ever heard of a sherpa?

Because I hadn’t until today.

Basically, the sherpa people (Preferred spelling is with lower case lettering) are indigenous to Nepal in the high Himalayas. It basically translates into “East People”. The term “sherpa” is applied to an elite group of expert mountain guides that are take people on expeditions. They must be top notch in terms of physical endurance, knowledge of the local terrain and are extremely adept at high altitudes. You do not have to be an ethnic sherpa to be a sherpa, though many are.

I know what you’re thinking. What the freak do Nepalese mountain guides have to do with a stay-at-home mom who lives in Utah and has the muscle tone of head cheese and the endurance of a three-toed sloth?

I wondered the same thing.

My brother-in-law has a company that my husband consults for quite a bit. It handles high-end technical support and web design. In addition to that, my brother-in-law is also partner in a company called, “SuperSherpas”.

Two of the most famous sherpa founded it with other partners and they are relocating their families to America. (They’re in Wikipedia for the most treks up Everest and the fastest run up Everest. Meet Apa and Lhakpa) They not only guide expeditions to Mount Everest and other treks through the Himalayas, but they also sell various outdoor gear and merchandise made in Nepal. They also divert a percentage of proceeds to a charitable organization that will help children from their region get an education.

All of this is totally fascinating, but I still, even with my glorious imagination, could not come up with any fathomable reason as to how I could be involved in the information that he was telling me. You know, because of the aforementioned SAHM three-toed sloth made of head cheese thing.

“My company is designing and setting up their website and we’re having a problem. We do the technical coding, but that is just the bare bones of a good website. It needs good content. Nobody has time to write everything that needs to be written. I need someone who can immerse and obsess about Nepal and sherpa, Appa and Lhakpa and the company and put all that information onto the site so that it is user friendly and makes sense.”

“So…You need someone who digs research, who can totally obsess, write good content, and can be completely, and utterly a big techno-dork that still cannot grasp WordPress plugins and shuts down the power of San Bernardino when I try to play with my template?”

“Yes, that is basically it.”

“I am SO your girl.”

“That’s what I already figured out. You know, in my shower. Which is never wrong.”

The best part about this is that if I can pull this off well? They’ll hire me to do other projects. As in, real jobs. For my weird little set of skills. Do you know how bizarre it is for ME to actually feel and be useful? It is blowing my mind. I could write and get PAID? Awesome.

Plus, part of the compensation is free web design (Which I need) and possibly a trip to Nepal at cost. Hey, my 10th anniversary is coming up next year, although I’ve never really pictured myself as hanging out in the Himalayas before (Although, I did really dig the film, “The Golden Child“. Eddie Murphy cracks me up: “Nepal!” N-E-P-A-L! WOO HOO!”…Um…You’d have to see it.)

I have a 2 o’clock meeting at their company to meet with the other owners and to start getting a feel for what they are looking for. Part of me is scared shitless. I’ve never DONE this before. On the other hand? You know when you just KNOW that you can do something?

Yah, baby. I have that feeling.

Wish me luck.

Dear NaBloPoMo: You are a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?

Dear Wilbur: Could you please stop going into heat even though you have been “Fixed”? My carpet is sick of getting raped.

Dear Insomnia: You are way out of control, you really are.

Dear Period: Can you just lay off for awhile? Oh, and a cessation of sucky facial outbreaks involving you would be most appreciated. Thanks.

Dear Jon: Could you please not work a billion hours this week so that I can remember what you look like?

Dear Golden Grahams: As much as I love you, I have to stop thinking that a few handfuls of you and Diet Coke are an adequate dinner.

Dear Chelle: I miss you.

Dear Nameless Family Member: You know I love you, but could you give me a little more than 20 minutes heads up to ask if I can go to the vagina doctor to be supportive of you?

Dear Vagina Doctor Office Staff: Could you please, please, PLEASE have something to read in your waiting room besides 30 copies of “American Baby”?

Dear Person Who Donated A Copy Of “Time” Magazine In Aforementioned Vagina Doctor Waiting Room With A Written Note That Expressed Your Disdain For “American Baby” : I love you.

Dear Dollar Theater: If you say that you say that you are open 7 days a week and have a movie playing at 9:40, please actually be open.

Dear Nooncy: The book rocks the house. You are nice and smell like flowers.

Dear Diet Coke: I love you. I adore you. You are not good for me, though. I feel like one day soon we are going to have to sit down and have a little talk.

Dear Kasey: You are a good friend. I know you have my back, BB.

Dear Smith’s Marketplace: Can you please stop having tremendous shoe sales when I have no budget for shoes?

Dear Tide With Bleach: You ran out on me today. I think that this is going to cause a major breakdown in our relationship. Plus, it would have been a good day to put my head inside and take a big, long sniff.

Dear Anxiety: Please go away. Please? You causing all sorts of problems in my life. You make me afraid of my blog and phone and are wrecking havoc with my social life.

Dear James and Christopher: I love you more than my luggage. THAT said; it really sucks that all your Halloween candy got tossed today because you kept sneaking it and leaving eleventyhundred wrappers all over the house.

Dear Future Child/Children: Could you please speak up a little louder and let me know if you are indeed out there? Cause clarity in this decision would be freaking nice.

Dear Production Of “The Messiah”: Thank you for letting me shine again this year. It helps. It really does.

Dear Singstar 80’s: One day you shall be mine. Oh, yes, you shall be mine.

Dear Voters: Please remember to vote tomorrow. Unless you have no idea what the issues are or who the candidates are. If that is you? Please stay the freak at home.

Dear Utah Jazz: I have accepted the fact that you are going to make your presence known in our house year after year, so I am not going to waste my time imploring you to go away. Just try not to totally suck this year so that my husband is less grumpy.

Dear Owners Of My Childhood Home: You made it look so ugly. It makes me sad.

Dear Father: The fact that you refuse to eat ham because you have a pig valve in your heart and would consider it “Cannibalism” is endearing, but I think it is rather silly that you would go hungry because of it. I’m just sayin’…

Dear Inner Child: You’re totally cramping my style.

Dear Linny: Happy birthday, Sis. You are amazing. What a strength you are for a tiny little runt. GRIN.

Dear Flabby Ass, Thighs and Saddlebags: Look, I know that I have a habit of completely neglecting you, but could you manage to pull yourself together and be on your best behavior when we go looking for jeans to buy? Please?

Dear Karen: You are an inspiration to me. You can do it.

Dear Fragile Feelings: Enough already! Stop!! Please!!! You are destroying my life.

Dear Rachel: Having 33 written reasons why you think I am a good friend is pretty sweet. Thanks.

Dear Blog Readers: I have been shamefully reminded that I need a blogroll. I took it down on my last blog because too many people were getting cranky over it which made me cranky as well. I did mean to feature my readers on this new site, but haven’t gotten around to it. I’m working on it. It may not be the fancy pants screen shot of OMSH and Kerflop, but I am working on a way to give my readers linky-love. I’ll let you know when you can send me your url. (P.S. I wuv you.)

Dear Theater Company That Keeps Emailing Me About The Show I Am Torn About Doing: Just stop, ok? The guilt is killing me.

Dear WalMart: You suck.

Dear Target: Can you please come to Logan so that we have more options than suck in this valley?

Dear Little Latin Boy In Drag: Why are you crying? (Name the movie.)

*Thanks to Belinda for the inspiration.