The Place

There is a country where round women are believed to be sexy and thin women unhealthy.  That is where you will find me one day. Does anyone know where it is?  I totally love food and have been eating nonstop, including an entire bag of these evil things called Minis. Beware of these cruel little bite size versions of your favorite candy. Reese's, a respectable protein filled candy, apparently declared psychological warfare on my thighs as I believed that one or two teeny bite sized candies would satisfy me. But, to my astonishment, this morning I woke up with an empty bag of Reese's Minis. In my bed. Cradled in my arms. They had slipped me a roofie. I'm pretty sure. I shamefully cleaned the chocolate off my face, threw the bag away, and in pure addict form, smiled gingerly when I noticed there were two more bags of Minis on the counter.  I think they even smiled back at me. And yes, I know I could have thrown them in the trash but I'm just a little defenseless girl with an oral fixation.  For chocolate.  (Keep it PG)  Even in my sleep. And now all of my clothes are too tight.

Anyway, I really did read there is a country where round women are believed to be sexy and thin women unhealthy.  I think it was on the cover of one of those magazines at the doctor's office.  I have actually thought about making extra money posing nude for the cover of that magazine. National Geographic.  My mom always said I was a natural beauty.  But in what country?  Damn.  I have such a horrible memory and have always been geographically inadequate.  

I hope it is the same place that believes a woman burping is simply a complement to the chef.  I would be loved there. I think I read about that in one of those magazines too. Or, how about one of those countries that has an overabundance of kind, handsome, smart men who love to cook, already have housekeepers, and satisfy their woman's every desire. I think I read about that in a delightfully disturbing different magazine though.  

I hope it is not one of those countries where women are inferior to men and need to, you know, behave and know their place or they will get stoned to death. Knowing me, I would still get the munchies. And I don't always "behave" and never have "known my place."  I wish I could remember the name of that place!  

So... Ciao, Shalom, Sayonara, and Adios. I'm dragging my fat ass to the gym. And wearing yoga pants to work tomorrow. But one day you'll find me in another country where round women are believed to be sexy and thin women unhealthy. And I hope it is soon because the older I get the less I care about how I look, and the more I believe Reese's is a splendid source of protein. And that shopping can be my cardio for the week. And that the sound of my children's laughter when they see me get out of the shower is heartwarming. 

The Addiction

Starbucks' secret ingredients:  crack and true love.   

I can't quit you.   

The Answer

Less government. More cowbell.

The PlayTex

A majority of Texas polititians, otherwise known as Exibit "A" to why abortion should be legal, feel that they would prefer to die from a bullet than dodge a tampon.  Since I have never had a woman pelt me with tampons, I suppose I'm not qualified to testify as to whether or not it is an unpleasant experience, which leads me to believe that a majority of Texas polititians have had a woman pelt them with tampons, which leads me to believe they are not the sort if people who should be voting on the rights of women.

The Beliebers

"Guilt Trip" -  A vacation a mother goes on when her middle child asks to go to the Justin Bieber concert.  In Dallas, Texas.  In the middle of a workweek.  With no money.

The middle child is the child who is too old to be the precious baby of the family yet is too young to be the privileged eldest.  Add to the mix a Jewish mother and you get an overlooked, underappreciated child that gets everything she wants.  Including Justin Bieber.  Fuck my life.

Being the spunky, positive minded and adventurous person that I am, I at least looked forward to the journey as I started up the car and headed toward the open road.  Unfortunately, however, my daughters' spunky, positive minded, adventurous personality traits reside in their endometrial lining.  So, I plugged them all into their iCrap and I listened to my book on tape for five hours. 

Upon arriving at the hotel, the nice lady checking me in asked what brought me to Dallas.  I don't think it was the words that I spoke, "Justin Bieber Concert" as much as the pathetic look on my face that made her hand me the keys to the upgraded suite on the top floor.  I felt like I had earned this.  I felt like a middle child.

I have been to lots of concerts, including Barney, The Wiggles and AC/DC, but never did a headache begin even before I found my seat. Billions of miniature female minions were screeching at the top of their lungs. And he wasn't even due on stage for hours.  They were delirious.  Frenzied. Whacked out.  As tears streamed down the faces of my little freaks, I realized that there was nothing I could do to stop the insanity. So, I videotaped it.  I now have video to show at their rehearsal dinners.  As Justin Bieber finally descended from ceiling dressed all in white attached to giant angel wings, the girls, screamed, cried and grabbed their hearts as if they were going to faint.  It was like Elvis or The Beatles had floated onto the stage.  But way gayer.  

I did get up to dance and sing at one point though.  I even knew all of the words!!!!  I was pleased to finally fit in to the madness. Somewhat.  Even if it was one of the opening bands.  Singing the theme song to "Fresh Prince of Bel Air."

I now believe that Bieber Fever is a real disease. I will be forwarding my video to the Mayo Clinic.  The symptoms are the ability to recite every word of Justin's songs, the disdain for all things Selena Gomez, and the knowledge of every useless fact about Justin, including that if Justin were to build a house out of any candy, it would be the Kit Kat bar.

My straight "A" student actually asked "Why is everything red, white and blue?"  I replied "Because the 4th of July is coming up."  Then she said, and I am sure it is because she was under the influence of Justin, "When is that?"

So while y'all are all busy worrying about your kids becoming drug addicts, failures, democrats or car bombers, please know there are worse things. My children are Beliebers. And they know Justin Bieber's penis is named "Jerry."

The Brave

I woke up this morning to news that history had been made while I was sleeping.  It would now be legal for me to marry Wendy Davis.  Because she is freaking awesome.  I'm not gay though.  And I'm not attracted to blondes.  So, maybe this week I'll just wear a rainbow scarf and pink tennis shoes in honor of those folks who care about the rights of others.  I try to never talk about politics because I feel like I'm not smart enough to argue with angry people who sound like they want to kill me.  I keep erasing stuff I write about Rick Perry because I want to be one of those positive peaceful people.  And not get assaulted.  How about just one word?  "Douche."  There, I said it.  You know you were thinking it though.  I could make it into positive statement.  Like "I would love Rick Perry to be douched from Texas, with a delicately fragranced fresh and gentle formula of cleansing liquid."  See - I'm totally positive and peaceful!  I'm so proud of and happy for so many people today.  Wendy Davis, you know, has a backbone made of steel.  Literally.  I am just like her in some ways.  I get filibusterish after too many Starbucks. But I do take bathroom breaks.  Seriously though, today I am thankful for the empathetic, kindhearted,  brave and just people in the world for reminding us that we were all created equal.  Except for...  well you know who.  He's a douche.  Crap.  I did it again.  I really am a positive peaceful person.  Mostly.  I wish for you, Reader, the knowledge of knowing that you are not alone in this world, even if it feels like it right now, because in a split second, everything can change.  There are some truly courageous people in this world, and one of them is you.

The Altacocker

So, I started my new book on tape. Yes, I know it's not a tape. It's a CD.  It's like when I hear a new song I say "Hey, Aerosmith has a new album out!"  I know it's CD, or a download or YouTube thingy.  It just sounds right.  This, I guess, marks the beginning of my outdatedness.  Like when my mom uses her "Mastercharge" to buy something, or when my grandparents asked for the "clicker" to change the channel, or when my ex mother in law asked for extra rolls of film to go with the new digital camera.  I will never forget my child's little face light up when I told her she could use my Magic Marker!  Priceless.  Until she realized it was just a Sharpie.  Pricelesser.  My kids think I am soooo out of style.  Hell, I'm so hip that I even took my kids to pop tags at the thrift shops long before Macklemore sang about it.  They did not find it cool or pimpin' then. They were horrified and repulsed. Five shirts for five dollars!  Oh well.  Haters gonna hate. 

So, anyway, I started my new book on tape.  It's the biography of Steve Jobs and I'm fascinated already for so many reasons.  Did you know that when Steve Jobs was young, he was a vegitarian, his hobby was doing LSD, he quit college to meditate in India, and he was an offensive stinky guy who rarely showered and didn't wear shoes.  That, my friends, is what it takes to become a billionaire.  It would have never been me.  I could never be a vegitarian. 

I wouldn't want to be a billionaire either.  I'm happy being a thousandaire.  Who calls earbuds "headphones" and Post Its "sticky notes," gas stations "ice houses," and was told not to call anyone "Boo" anymore.  Because I do it wrong.  At least I tried to twerk.  I failed.  I think my joints just don't move like that anymore. Whatever.  YOLO.

The Beetrothed

Behind every crazy woman is a hornet's nest full of hormones and a man with a big stick.

The Power

As a mom, all I want is to enjoy the life, liberty and pursuit of happiness that I was guaranteed.  This should not be dependant on political stats, numbers, self interests and reelections.  There are very few polititions left who possess character, compassion and veracity. Folks with those qualities are simply not suited for the job.  Picture Mother Theresa selling used cars.  Poor thing would be raked over the coals.  A government filled with polititions by any other name would smell as immoral. When did we start living in fear and how do I explain this to my children?  The people in the justice system don't want the truth, they want a win - justice at any price to meet a quota  to prove they are worthy of reelection.  Just one human life slipping through the cracks for their own benefit is one person too many if you ask me. But what do I know.  My voice is small and my power is insignificant.  My hope is that the fear they have instilled in our children will motivate the next generation to put an end to the system we now must serve. Manipulating the truth is still a lie.  Death in an unnecessary battle is still murder. Government intruding in our personal lives without permission is still, well, just plain fucked up.  When I was a little girl I wished I had a big brother.  Someone to look after me.  I'm not a little girl anymore.  I'm a Mom.  And if I had your power my dear government, I would put you all in time out until you learn to play nice.  Then, I'd ground you from all of your electronics.  So I could make private phone calls.  Probably to your moms.  Then, and only then could I finally enjoy that guaranteed pursuit of happiness, with liberty and justice for the little sisters.

The Diet

Now that I'm a little bit older than 20, Shut Up, it is probably time for me to start thinking about what I put into my body.  I am so busy that there is simply not enough time to cook every night. I exercise and take vitamins every day, but to be honest, I don’t do that because I care about my health, I do that so I can eat lots of crap and still look good.  I do, however, have a kitchen full of fruits, vegetables and healthy stuff for the kids to eat, but I know that it's time for me to follow suit.  I'm not getting any younger, and I am starting to realize that the foods I am eating, with all of their preservatives, additives, hormones and unmentionable animal parts, could possibly be killing me.  Slowly. Malignantly. Wickedly. Inconspicuously. Like a Dark Passenger. God, I really shouldn't write after midnight. Ignore that last part.  

TOP TEN SIGNS THAT MY NUTRITIONAL

VALUES PEAKED AT THE AGE OF FOUR

10) My favorite vegitable is the french fry.

9)  My favorite Mexican food is chips with butter.

8)  I am convinced that Chik Fil A nuggets are double the protein as they are fried in peanut oil.

7) The only condiment I like is cream gravy. And it goes with everything.

6)  I still eat Froot Loops. One color at a time. Red last. Because it's my favorite color.

5) I still put potato chips in my peanut butter sandwiches but I always look around and make sure nobody is watching because the kids at summer camp made fun of me.

4) The only green foods I truly love are green M&Ms and green Skittles.

3) The only reason I attend sporting events is because they serve cotton candy.

2) I eat bread.  With everything.  Which has nothing to do with being four years old, but holy shit... Have you seen the size of my ass?

And... Please don't judge...

1) I just ate the whole stack Oreo exteriors that my 7 year old child left for me on my nightstand after she licked off the stuff in the middle.

I really did read that the coffee bean is a fruit. Is there a Richard Simmons Branch of the Betty Ford Clinic?


...

The Association

Dear Homeowner's Association Guy That Came To My House While I Was At Work,

Why do you only send me a letter when my lawn looks bad?  Recently, I spent a bunch of time working on my yard but you didn't send me a letter saying that my lawn looks super pretty.  I respond soooo much better to positive reinforcement.  You know that I'm a single working mom with a very full and busy life.  And you, well, since we are being so invasive and honest with each other, are old, obviously unhappy, and have an abundance of free time on your hands.  What you need, my dear, is to feel useful, because well, let's face it, you're not.  And you need endorphins, you know, so you can be pleasant when you insist small children sign for letters berating their mommy.  I am not very handy with yardwork, it's true, but I have always been empathetic and amazing at helping others. So please, let me help you.  Hmmm... let's see... ya need to feel useful, and gain endorphins.... I know!   YOU should mow my fucking lawn. 

Sincerely,

Rachelle

The Tombstone

I am insulted when people try to fix me. Especially when I haven't asked for assistance in correcting whatever they believe to be the error in my ways.  It took me many years to be confortable with myself and my unique opinions, feelings and beliefs. I hate to quote Popeye, but I am what I am. I want this on my tombstone.  Well, maybe "I was what I was."  My views are my own, they are very personal, and although I am interested in hearing what others have to say, if their agenda is to change me, I tend to either shut down or put my dukes up.  Many years ago I had an argument I will never forget. On this occasion, with musicians. As usual, I was outnumbered physically, not mentally, and evidently, I lost. I still however, to this day, firmly believe with all my heart:  There is no right or wrong in air guitar!!!  Put that on my tombstone too.  Along with "You may now feel free to fix me."

The Text

For those of you who have children, and, like me, have always feared losing their little baby's love when he or she grows up, I don't think you have to worry.  My 17 year old may not have time to spend with me as she is dreadfully busy with school, friends and work, but she still finds time to call, and actually texts me several times a day.  In fact, many times she adds those cute little emoji symbols like hearts, smiley faces, roses and kissy faces at the end of her text messages. Although it's true each time she is asking for money, I know it is just her way of saying "I love you."  Because she adds a kissy face.  My heart is full.  

The Reprimand

So, the boss sat me down to have a little talk this week about how I was not doing my job properly.  Apparently, I am not managing my time wisely, staying focused on certain projects, and spending too much time giving attention to and helping out other people in our little organization, who are apparently "worthless" and "not important."  I tried to stay calm, as there is no doubt in my mind that I am better at my job than most and have been doing it well for almost half my life.  Most of you know that I am very sensitive, and get my feelings hurt easily, but I stayed calm and listened to all of the arguments, which unfortunately made sense, were valid, on point, and obviously rehearsed.  After being chewed out, mocked and insulted for over ten minutes, I calmly said that it was my turn to speak.  "Maya,"  I said, "You have two other sisters that need my attention too, even though it is true that they are older and can take care of themselves."  I sat Daughter Superior down on the couch and explained, "I agree that you are the only one that keeps her room clean, cooks with me, helps me clean, spends time with me, and kisses my whole face every morning, however, I am not going to stop loving your sisters and give you all of my attention.  Period."  The tiny general then marched away, both of us knowing that the battle had just begun.

The Name

So, apparently my name is "Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy."  I love being a mom. More than anything in the world really.  Motherhood has shown me the meaning of life, humbled me, and is the very reason I was put on this Earth. But I was assured at some point before I bred that my new name would only have two syllables.  

I always said that I wished my name was "Dad" so short and chipper, as in "Hey Dad, pull my finger!"  And I know what you're thinking, but dude, it's better than "Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy, the cat puked on the floor!"

I tried explaining to them that there was only one "Mommy" in my name. They thought that was funny.  I tried saying their name twenty times in a row to demonstrate how aggravating it was. They thought that was funny too. 

I am also referred to as "Butt Mom" by the way.  Every time they argue with me.  "BUT MOM! That's not fair! She started it."  I tell them that my name is not "Butt Mom" and I walk away. They don't think that is funny, but they look confused long enough for me escape the ruckus. 

In an effort to preserve my sanity, I informed my babies that I will only answer to "Your Majesty."  "Your majesty, I lost my homework again."  "Your majesty, my sister pulled my hair!"  I smile all day. 

This has royally changed my life. It has brought order to my castle. And I know what your thinking, but dude, don't judge the Queen. 

The Ink

If I get a tattoo, I want to get Japanese lettering so that I can tell everyone it's their name. Because they are special.  I'd have to avoid dating Japanese men though.

It would also be fun to be a tattoo artist so when people asked for their name tattooed in Japanese lettering, I would instead write "Dork" or "Stinky."  Then the Japanese guys I ignored will have something to laugh about.

The Smarts

I tried to argue with someone stupid today.  I was really upset until I realized I was the smart person who argued with the stupid person.  The reverse would have been a much greater loss.

I'm not trying to insult stupid people.  Stupid + nice makes a pleasant person, somewhat puppylike.  Like some blonde girls.  I'm not trying to insult blonde girls.  I called them puppylike.  The stupid ones. 

Stupid + mean though makes a very scary person, somewhat Frankensteinlike.   I'm not trying to insult Frankensteins.  Just the mean ones.  So, the next time I call Abby Normal, I will be ready to lose the battle, probably the war too, but never my smarts.

The Adorables

My seven year old said today "Why don't you write about me pooping since you think everything I do is soooooo adorable!"

I think she just unadorabled herself.  Just like that.  If there are scientists out there who have been searching for a cure for adorableness, we can help. 

Individually, we really are adorable.  It's a fact. I have that in writing somewhere.  But as a group, a group of four females, we are like wet Mogwai.  

My seventeen year old said today "I wish I could live with my father.  You're so annoying!"  Now, that one, her adorable disappeared when her first bra appeared. That's Victoria's secret.   

And although my middle child has the delightful ability to use the words "I love you mommy" and "shut the fuck up" in the same sentence, today she says NOTHING as she's curled up in bed with her kitty cat, fast asleep, motionless, squabbleless and speechless.  Now THAT is adorable.  

The Quote

As the lesser known and often overlooked Mama Nietzsche used to say, "That which does not kill us, earns us a massage and a mani/pedi." 

The Dark

Sometimes I fall in. There's a very dark place that women go when things become unbearable.  We tend to lay down our bedazzled sword and let the darkness envelop us as we protectively detach ourselves, stare through hollow eyes and go on with our day.  You can tell so much about a person if you look into their eyes.  If you look close enough you can tell when someone is devoid of life. Perhaps that is why women wear sunglasses.  It's not that they don't want people to know who they are. They don't want people to know where they are. I don't have very good mornings.  I put a smile on my face and wear my sunglasses every morning into the office.  People on the elevator jokingly ask me if I'm a movie star.  I reply in a serious voice, "Yes, I am."  So then I get to start my day pretending I'm Angelina Jolie, pre adoption spree and double mastectomy.  And I start to climb out.

The Limerick

I think if I start conversations with "There once was a man from Nantucket..." there will be a man one day who will respond with 4 additional lines in an AABBA rhyming pattern.  He will either be my soul mate or padded cell mate.

Sometimes I talk too much.  I just have alot to say and in no specific order.

I wish I was more a combination of Gloria Steinem and the hot slutty blonde on Desperate Housewives than a combination of Dr. Seuss and the guy on The Wiggles who always falls asleep. 

There has only been one man who could follow my conversations.  Even when I was on Starbucks.  And Vodka.  I miss him.  People tend to cut me off when I get too wordy or A.D.D.-y.  Some even tell me to "get to point."  Like my ex husband.  He had only a seven word limit before every thing I said sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher to him.  I could up it to about eighteen words if I spoke with my top off.  My teenagers have about a seven word limit too.  I could up it to about eighteen words if I start my sentence with "Here's $20..."  My seven year old thinks I'm interesting and hilarious.  Sadly, I know it's just another awkward phase. I really can't complain.  I have great friends and family. They are very patient souls who will listen to me for hours no matter what I say. 

...and everyone else can just suck it.

The Change

Headline today reads "Rocker has Sex Change to Become a Woman."

Dear Tom aka Laura (New Woman),

Enjoy urinating every time you sneeze, crying when you're happy, crying when you're sad, having to wear a sports bra to jog, experiencing 12 emotions all in a row, black men wanting sandwiches, making less money, not being called a baller if you have a one night stand, waxing, waxing everything, mean girls, being objectified if your pretty, being oppressed if you are not, spanx, yeast, nobody high fiving you when you fart in public, wearing shoes that hurt and never being able to write your name in the snow again.  Ever.

Sincerely,

Rachelle (Old Woman)

The End

The number one cause of death is dying.

The Gift

I had a bad day.  I will spare the world the sequence of dramatic events that led to my bad day because they were not even realistic events, rather symbolic ones that only a woman would use to poetically sum up her life.  I can, a day later, easily look back on my alleged "bad day" and make sense of it with a touch of humor and a positive spin, and move on. 

I also had a bad night though.  That is something different altogether... 

I never liked the word "Nightmare" so I always told my kids that a long time ago, the Indians regarded dreams as something sent to them by the gods, and that in each dream there was a GIFT.  The whole family would climb into bed in the morning and share their gifts.  Some dreams were not so pleasant and they were called "Loud Dreams."  These dreams were sometimes considered to hold the most important gifts or lessons to be learned.

So.... last night, in my dream, I'm at school.  Never a good start.  I'm in another country or dimention or simply far from home, and am never seated in the right classroom.  Nobody will talk to me and I am regarded with disdain by all, except for this really ugly dog with large teeth and matted brown and white fur.  Dog follows me around everywhere, talks incessantly, and needs me to find him a home.  I skip school to fly down to my parents house to see if they will take Dog, but upon arrival, I saw they had written the words "No Dogs" in their yard with stones.  I don't have the heart to tell my ugly friend, who luckily can't read, that we have reached a dead end, so I turn around my flying carpet type thing, and Dog and I head to a keg party.  I hadn't had Shiner for a long time.  It was really tasty.  I sat in a lawnchair for a spell, closed my eyes and enjoyed the slight breeze. Then this yukky guy from my past started stalking me and he wouldn't leave me alone, and then I realized I had not even been at the right school and I would have to do the whole year over again, and then I couldn't find Dog, and then I woke up.

Like I said, bad night.  "Loud Dreams" filled with fears of isolation, inadequacy and incompetence take a while to shake off.  But if you look hard enough you can find the Gift sent from the gods.  Mine was simple as I realized my dream was the first time I'd had a beer in ages.

I got in my car, and did something EVERY woman needs to do from time to time.  I bought a six pack of Shiner, grabbed a lawn chair from the garage, and decided to stop overthinking and analyzing shit...

.... and lived happily ever after for a little while.

The end.

The Campout

DAY 1:
Local small town Texas grocery store...  The Sound That Pissed Me Off On My Campout #1 - "No!  I want Hunts ketchup!  Heinz is owned by a LIBERAL!" 

It's not that I consider myself a "liberal", I just absolutely HATE people who hate other people that differ from them.  And hypocrites.  Hate them too.  I'm not a party to any party really, especially the one that serves tea.  Can anyone tell me who picked such a gay name for a bunch of people with guns?   

DAY 2:
My only wish is that I had a gun right now.

Sound That Pissed Me Off On My Campout #2 -   "TWEET!" 

Not the kind where you type 14O characters to talk about your new selfie.  The kind discussed in the brochure I never read, in the section which boasted that my campsite was the home to over a gajillion species of birds and owls (WHO ALL WAKE UP AT 6:00 IN THE MORNIING!!!!!)  Princess Nature Lover now wishes she had packed an Uzi instead of a Keurig.  Perhaps it is true that guns don't kill people. People kill people... but I'm pretty sure a gun could shut the fuck out of all the birds right now.  Including the male and female owl, each on opposite sides of my tent, chanting the same obnoxious mating calls back and forth and back and forth.  Dear Mr. Owl,  using the same line over and over is obviously not getting you anywhere!  Take the bottle of vodka out of my blue bag and just get the bitch drunk.  Works for me every time.   

DAY 2.5:

As the brilliant sinking sun slowly sets on the horizon of a sky marbled with about nine shades of magenta, I realized that the Sound That Pissed Me Off On My Campout #3 came from me, with all of the bitching that I did about the birds waking me up (they still have not shut up btw), my WiFi not working, and the bugs that seem to love my legs more than any man ever has.  I am sitting now in my shorts and Bucees t-shirt, with no make up, stuffed with eggs liketheynevertasteathome cooked in the grease from bacon, energized from hiking, glowing from the sun and fresh air, mournful about having to leave Jessica, my rabbit friend, and am concerned that I will not feel this peaceful again.  Ever.

DAY 3: 

Forget everything I said.  All of it.  Damn birds woke me up again.  All of them.  When I think of how my other senses encounter a bird, I find that they are all pleasant encounters.  Birds are soft to touch, pretty to look at, and when fried and placed in a bucket, delicious to taste.  But when all of your senses, other than your sense of hearing, are locked up in a tent, I promise you this:  BIRDS ARE EVIL!!!!

I am ready to go home.  I am ready to go home.  I am ready to go home.  Packed, unfed, unshowered and ready to go home, when along came The final Soud That Pissed Me Off On My Campout..... Me, banging my head against the steering wheel, as I remembered I had promised to bring the kids back with me next weekend.

The Bio

I am a Paralegal and a Mom. I type a lot and drive small people around. I get called "Annoying" on a daily basis and have decided that that word must mean "Sexy." My hobbies all include napping. My favorite drug is coffee, but my doctor just said I have to quit. My second favorite drug is laughter, but my doctor is the only person that thinks I'm funny. I'm currently looking for a new drug. I am disgusted with the State of Texas but I can't leave until the kids are grown. I have nightmares about uneducated, unethical people. They always have banjos. When I grow up I want to be young. Like my men. Raising three daughters as a single mom has taught me the meaning of life, the meaning of unconditional love, that grounding my kids for not cleaning their room after the housekeeper just cleaned mine is one of my superpowers, and that there really is a chance that since they call me "Annoying", and they know they look and act exactly like me, that the word "Annoying" really does mean "Sexy."

The Passion

How many of you have said things in the heat of passion that you regret?  There are NO take backs.  There are NO do overs.  You and your partner are forever stuck with irreversible words.  Some words like "I love you" leave you feeling guilty as you are cursed with the knowledge that you have toyed with the other person's heart and emotions.  In my case, words like "Let's go camping this weekend!" left me feeling like a freaking idiot who is going to freeze to death in a tent, and am cursed with the knowledge that I have toyed with the other person's image of me as an energetic, adventurous outdoorsy chick.  There are NO take backs.  There are NO do overs. There is no shower.  There is no WiFi.  Please remove my flannel and hiking boots if open casket is necessary.       

The Reader

Exhausted from a long day, I walked from room to room last night, and saw Julia reading a huge blue SAT Prep book, Sam on her Ipad reading fan fiction, and Maya on the last pages of her Junie B. Jones book. I was so proud that I had passed on my love for reading to my children. I patted myself on the back, closed my door, snuggled into bed, and turned on the T.V.

The Blog

"The Blog" sounds so much like "The Blob" and I see why as I sit on my ass in front of the computer writing all day.  Did you know the ass was strategically placed out of a person's line of vision for a reason?  Yep, self esteem.  I plan to be more like The Blob and eat everything that stands in my way. Metaphorically speaking, of course.  It has been a long, rough, bitch of a journey.  It hasn't killed me.  It hasn't made me stronger.   Pretty sure that means I'm a Zombie.  So, next time you see me, RUN, don't walk, because just like The Blob, I am indescribable, indestructable, and nothing can stop me!  Ya - not true.  That was the self esteem talking.  Because I'm still sitting on my ass.  Welcome to The Blog.